Aftermath
by Pyreite
Summary: [700 years post DotM, 400 years post ME-3: Control ending]. Jazz brings Bumblebee on a mission to a remote energon mining facility in deep-space to investigate Perceptor's unusual scientific discovery, a Reaper dreadnought, slumbering in the tunnels underneath the mine. The mine's AI, J4N3, a friend of Jazz, has a few secrets of her own to tell to Bumblebee. [ONGOING].
1. Lewd and Licentious

**Aftermath **

_**By Pyreite**_

**Fandom:** AU – Mass Effect x Bayverse Transformers Movies

**Rating:** M – Contains _Mature_ themes

**Setting:** Set _seven hundred years_ after Darkside of the Moon and _four hundred years_ after Mass Effect 3 – Control ending. Takes place in the same universe as oneshot _Baby-bots, Spark-Attacks, and Cuddle-Buddies_.

**Synopsis:**Jazz brings Bumblebee on a mission to a remote energon mining facility in deep-space to investigate Perceptor's unusual scientific discovery, a Reaper dreadnought, slumbering in the tunnels underneath the mine. The mine's AI, J4N3, a close friend of Jazz, unknowingly inherited the gift preserved inside the genetic code of the first human ally of the Autobot's, Samuel Witwicky.

A gift that like Pandora's Box, once opened could save or destroy the last surviving scions of Primus's legacy, Optimus Prime, the Autobots, and the remnants of the Decepticon forces.

**Starring:** Jazz, Bumblebee, Perceptor, a reaperised Commander Jane Shepard, a moody miner-bot, some old Autobot friends, and several hundred miniaturised insecticons.

**Warnings:** _This story contains a xenophile romance between an AI and an Autobot, some cuddling, spontaneous kissing, references to interfacing equipment, budding sparklings, Fornax, Shepard's oddity of attracting suitors among aliens species, and coarse language, especially, cybertronian curse words, like frag, slag, and glitch. Discretion is advised. _

_**Chapter 1: Lewd and Licentious**_

"Primus! No wonder Perce wanted to shut down operations!" Jazz inspected the holographic map that was rapidly evolving in real-time. The probes were scanning up, down, left to right, and side-to-side to generate the flickering three-dimensional hologram of the tunnel's shallow basin, high cavernous walls, and rocky vaulted ceiling. Jazz whistled appreciatively when the probes' scanning revealed the curved contours of the anomalous structure, squatting like a beetle, amidst the detritus left by the miners' cautious drilling. The rubble, rock, and dust were akin to crumbs in comparison to the eerily organic and utterly alien colossus, nestled under the asteroid's barren crust, like a glitch-mouse in a hole.

Perceptor had jabbered excitedly about '_The greatest scientific discovery in vorns'_ for the entirety of the Ark's transit from the colony on Astraea to the Hax-4 mining facility. The mine, specializing in the extraction of raw energon-ore off-world, provided a good fifteen percent of the Astraean colony's fuel needs. The sum was weighty when Jazz considered that the colony, barely five vorns old, was in the early stages of construction, expansion, and settlement. The steady flow of raw energon-ore into Astraea's two energon-refineries was a necessity when a third of the refined energon, stored in liquid form, was stockpiled against future shortages. The mine was located in an asteroid belt in deep-space and run by a grouchy administrator with a long career working in the cybertronian heavy industries. Jazz could still hear Joule and Perceptor arguing through the administrator's office wall, their voices rolling and booming in a flood of white-noise, static, and frustration.

"Jazz, aren't you going to do something?"

The clang of metal on metal made the saboteur grin. Jazz chuckled when he heard Perceptor's indignant yell and a staccato beat of clinks, clanks, and a resonant crash that could only be an argument degenerating into an all-out brawl. "Perce has everything under control, Bee". Jazz was too fascinated by the holographic map to care when the thin metal of the administrator's door, visible across the hall, dented with a deafening bang. He was smiling when Bumblebee's optics, flashing a bright startled blue, focused on the dent that was in the unmistakably boxy shape of a cybertronian's aft.

Jazz's poor sheltered apprentice was one of the few autobots unaware of Perceptor's relationship with the tough, irascible, and fiery bot that administered the Hax-4 mining operation. Joule was the reason why their reclusive scientist preferred to take his shore-leave abroad rather than staying around Autobot headquarters. "Perce is just having a friendly disagreement with Joule about the importance of geology versus science. It's nothing to worry about", assured Jazz. Bumblebee watched his mentor skirt the edge of the holo-table, regard the map from a new angle, and ignore the horrendous screech of metal grinding against metal. He flinched at the sound of a high pained shriek that made the administrator's dented door rattle on its hinges.

Bumblebee shakily inhaled through his vents. He eyed the hallway that led out of the mining facility's command centre. His processor was already entertaining all manner of horrifying scenarios where poor Perceptor lay prone on Joule's office-floor, seriously injured, and likely in need of medical attention. Bumblebee paced restlessly, back and forth, shaking his helm. He tensed at the sound of husky moaning, a series of short and sharp metallic squeaks, and the repetitive clunk of something hard and heavy striking a wall.

The scout curled his fingers into fists, spun on his heel, and resolutely looked towards the administrator's office. He was not going to stand by while an egotistical miner-bot slaughtered Perceptor. Bumblebee charged past his mentor, stormed into the hall, and raised his hand to tap the key-panel that would open the administrator's office door. He paused when Jazz offered one piece of cautionary advice. "You don't want to go troubling Perce right now, Bee".

Bumblebee reached for the key-panel. His fingers hovered over the touch-screen. He hesitated to input the key-code that he'd seen Joule use to unlock the office. He reflected in that moment on Jazz's many lessons that had always emphasized the importance of observation, analysis, and problem-solving. Bumblebee considered his mentor's nonchalance over Perceptor's wellbeing, his subtle reassurances that their mutual friend was fine, and that last timely warning.

Bumblebee peered over his shoulder. He saw Jazz smirking. "You put an anti-social scientist and a smart-mouthed miner-bot in the same room together. You shut the door, leave them for a joor, and do not under any circumstances disturb them. Why would we do that, Bee?" Several kliks passed while Bumblebee analysed the cryptic clues. Jazz snickered when the cogs started to turn inside his apprentice's helm, the bot was a talented scout, but sometimes what was obvious to others eluded him unless he thought long and hard about it.

"_Perceptor is fragging Joule_!" yelped an appalled Bumblebee. He glanced to the key-panel bolted to the wall, grimaced, and immediately jerked his hand back from the touch-screen. He was not going to risk soiling his fingers, especially; when he could not be certain if that glassy-surface was _sanitary_. Bumblebee's vents rasped and wheezed in shock while he hastily scrambled away from the administrator's dented office door. "_Primus_! _ I would have walked in on them rubbing coils_!"

Jazz evaluated his apprentice's reaction. He had expected disgust of some variety, Bumblebee was a young adult, but still in essence relatively chaste and inexperienced or so he'd assumed. "Rubbing coils, now, where could you have learned an expression like that?" Jazz folded his arms across his chest-plates, leaned a hip-strut against the rim of the holo-table, and refocused his attention on Bumblebee. He noted the scout's bowed helm, drooping shoulders, and awkwardly shuffling pedes.

Bumblebee oozed guilt from his very circuits. He averted his gaze, glowered at the floor, and fully expected Jazz to reprimand him. He was older than Brains and Wheelie by several hundred vorns but the younger autobots, more akin to sparklings than adults, had recently used the Ark's mainframe to intercept a series of transmissions from a deep-space comm-buoy. The downloaded and decrypted files had revealed a scandalous publication called _Fornax_ that came in a variety of languages, most surprisingly of all, a modernized version of Earth-based English. Bumblebee and his cohorts had read all about the scantily-clad Commander Shepard, her crew of xenophiles, and their bordello of a ship, the Normandy SR-2 run by the_ naughty_ AI designated EDI.

Jazz's pede impatiently tapped the grated metal floor. He was generally tolerant by nature but sometimes a more direct approach was necessary to curb his apprentice's enthusiasm. Bumblebee was old enough to take care of himself, but, to Jazz he would always be the brave if brash younger brother in need of guidance and protection. "You know Ratchet would blow a fuse if he found out that you'd been reading trashy organic smut right?" The saboteur sighed disappointedly when Bumblebee's helm whipped up so fast that his neck-struts creaked as if the hinges were rusty and in need of a good oiling.

"I know about Brains and Wheelie accessing Teletraan's communications array. I know what they found and I know what you've been reading, Bee". Jazz looked his apprentice in the optic, clucked his glossa disapprovingly, and wondered if Bumblebee had been more interested in the risqué snapshots than in reading between the lines. "Does Fornax: Solar Edition 245e – featuring the life, loves, and adventures of Commander Jane Shepard, as serialized from the memoirs of Jefferson _Joker_ Moreau, sound familiar?" The concave band of Jazz's visor darkened from a pale sky-blue to a broody black when Bumblebee's vocalizer hissed in distress. He'd known about the younger bot indulging in a sordid pastime that would result, at worst, in a scolding from Ratchet, and at best, being sentenced to a few orns of boring deskwork.

Bumblebee knew that he was slagged either way. Ratchet would probably blast his audio sensors until the internal wiring overheated and he was rendered deaf, dumb, and disoriented from the lack of auditory-input. Jazz would likely bench him from missions, a pure disciplinary action that would leave him manning the special-operations office inside Autobot headquarters, the desk-jockey dealing with a backlog of paperwork. "Yes", groaned Bumblebee as he rubbed an ashamed hand down his face-plate. "And now you're going to rat me out to Ratchet and ground me from missions".

The scout was surprised when Jazz beckoned him over to the holo-table. "Bee, if you want to spend your off-duty joors reading up on organic mating rituals than that's your business, just make sure that it doesn't overflow into your work-space. I already get enough grief from Prowler for splashing my office walls with posters of my favourite bands". Bumblebee's dread evaporated, he laughed away the anxiety, and was grateful that Jazz was his superior rather than the strict if brilliant Prowl. Optimus Prime's second-in-command would not have condoned him wasting his free-time browsing through a periodical as lewd and licentious as _Fornax_.

Bumblebee approached the holo-table, admired the holographic map, and waited while his mentor charmed the mining facility's AI designated J4N3. "Jane baby, please isolate quadrant-5 of the map for me, zoom in nice and close, and enhance the resolution with your aft-kicking processing skills". Bumblebee rolled his optics when he heard the AI's distinctly feminine giggle vibrate through the speakers embedded in the ceiling overhead. The holo-table's reflective surface was awash in a sea of light and colour as Jane selected the irregular sphere of the newly opened mining tunnel, enlarged the central image, and enriched the detail. "Jane, my sweetspark, thank you ever so much", Jazz declared with a spark-melting smile.

Bumblebee croakily cleared his vocaliser, bent an arm, and slammed his elbow-joint into his mentor's side with a dull clang. Jazz overbalanced with the blow, stumbled gracelessly on his pedes, but managed to recover when the AI offered to help him. The side of the holo-table extended, a thick steel tray emerged seamlessly beside Jazz's hip-strut, saving him from a nasty tumble onto the floor. Bumblebee snorted through his nasal-plates when Jazz grasped the edge of the tray to steady himself. He watched his mentor turn on the charisma just to shower Jane with praise for her thoughtfulness.

"You're a spark-saver. Thank you again for being so kind, and sweet, and helpful. Don't be mad at Bee. He just gets a little embarrassed whenever I try to flirt with a fine lady like you".

Bumblebee tapped Jazz's visor with an annoyed fingertip, when he saw that the glassy band was suffused with the vibrant orange of amusement. His mentor could charm the plates off anything with a spark-beat. The AI, J4N3, a young femme with a crush on the smooth-talking saboteur, had already granted him a few favours that would otherwise have required administrative-level authorization. Joule, the mine's reigning senior officer, was conveniently tucked away in her office having her coils thoroughly lubricated by an amorous Perceptor. Jazz, meanwhile, had sweet-talked his way into Jane's good graces, and taken full advantage of the opportunity to gather intelligence on the anomaly parked in Joule's vast labyrinthine basement.

"Bee, would you stop being a glitch and check out the holo-map", insisted Jazz.

Bumblebee gave his mentor a dirty look. He turned to the holo-table and the hologram floating in a haze of light and intricate complexity. He ignored Jane's holographic avatar when the AI, presenting herself as an attractively feminine bot set her hands on her hips and rebuked him. "You better be nicer to Jazz!" Her avatar disappeared a klik later and the holo-table was once again displaying the enlarged and enhanced image of Perceptor's latest discovery.

Bumblebee studied the hologram until his optics shone a vivid electric blue in recognition of something unnervingly familiar. He ignored Jazz's curious stare, shook his helm in disbelief, and jabbed his fingers into the holo-map's gleaming heart. He manipulated what was visible with deft strokes on holographic icons, until the apparition of light and darkness, rotated a full three-hundred and sixty degrees. Bumblebee gaped at the sight of the segmented legs folded under a long and thin belly that swept upwards in a steep line to the apex of a spike-like tail. He was reminded of tiny insects with hard exoskeletons and luminous squid with thin triangular wings, flexible tentacles, and glistening eyes that originated in the lands and seas of Earth.

No cybertronian ship or building that Bumblebee had ever seen incorporated such strange characteristics from organic lifeforms. He considered the Ark, a cybertronian ship that was a mixture of the simple circles, rounded corners, and hard lines typical of a robotic race that thought within the boundaries of mechanical logic. Bumblebee could see that the object unveiled by the mining facility's AI, had evolved in an entirely different niche to cybertronian technology and architecture. Perceptor's discovery was curved and contoured in a way that defied the perfect symmetry of the horizontal, vertical, and diagonal lines common in cybertronian engineering. The Ark was a pristine example of a mobile cybertronian fortress, buoyant in space like a boat on water, but immobile as a boulder on dry land without the aid of engines, thrusters, and after-burners.

The structure in Joule's basement had insect-like legs; an adaptation that Bumblebee deduced would likely provide the capability for terrestrial locomotion. The trait was alien to the Ark but analogous to organic lifeforms that could traverse distances of varying length purely by walking from one destination to another. Bumblebee grew more concerned the longer that he contemplated the differences between the Ark's cybertronian aesthetic to the organic influences exhibited by the thing rotating in three dimensions right in front of his face-plate. The hologram was precise down to the minutest measurement. Perceptor's newest obsession rivalled the Ark in size, was possibly a ship of similar function, and potentially had a foreign equivalent to the heavy-weapons, tracking, and trajectory-correction systems usually installed aboard a cybertronian warship.


	2. The Shepard

**Aftermath **

_**By Pyreite**_

**Fandom:** AU – Mass Effect x Bayverse Transformers Movies

**Rating:** M – Contains _Mature_ themes

**Setting:** Set _seven hundred years_ after Darkside of the Moon and _four hundred years_ after Mass Effect 3 – Control ending. Takes place in the same universe as oneshot _Baby-bots, Spark-Attacks, and Cuddle-Buddies_.

**Synopsis:**Jazz brings Bumblebee on a mission to a remote energon mining facility in deep-space to investigate Perceptor's unusual scientific discovery, a Reaper dreadnought, slumbering in the tunnels underneath the mine. The mine's AI, J4N3, a close friend of Jazz, unknowingly inherited the gift preserved inside the genetic code of the first human ally of the Autobot's, Samuel Witwicky.

A gift that like Pandora's Box, once opened could save or destroy the last surviving scions of Primus's legacy, Optimus Prime, the Autobots, and the remnants of the Decepticon forces.

**Starring:** Jazz, Bumblebee, Perceptor, a reaperised Commander Jane Shepard, a moody miner-bot, some old Autobot friends, and several hundred miniaturised insecticons.

**Warnings:** _This story contains a xenophile romance between an AI and an Autobot, some cuddling, spontaneous kissing, references to interfacing equipment, budding sparklings, Fornax, Shepard's oddity of attracting suitors among aliens species, and coarse language, especially, cybertronian curse words, like frag, slag, and glitch. Discretion is advised. _

_**Chapter 2: The Shepard**_

_**From last time: **_

_The structure in Joule's basement had insect-like legs; an adaptation that Bumblebee deduced would likely provide the capability for terrestrial locomotion. The trait was alien to the Ark but analogous to organic lifeforms that could traverse distances of varying length purely by walking from one destination to another. Bumblebee grew more concerned the longer that he contemplated the differences between the Ark's cybertronian aesthetic to the organic influences exhibited by the thing rotating in three dimensions right in front of his face-plate. The hologram was precise down to the minutest measurement. Perceptor's newest obsession rivalled the Ark in size, was possibly a ship of similar function, and potentially had a foreign equivalent to the heavy-weapons, tracking, and trajectory-correction systems usually installed aboard a cybertronian warship. _

Bumblebee delved into his memory archive. He methodically searched for every reference related to the 245e Solar Edition of Fornax. The most recently time-stamped memory-dump revealed the racy Solar Edition cover splashed with an illustration of a sensually sweaty and decadently dishevelled Commander Jane Shepard clad in shredded, scorched, and smoking armour. She stood over the blackened corpse of Perceptor's latest science project, a rocket-launcher slung across one shoulder, and under the heels of her combat boots laid a mountain of severed wires, sparking electronics, and ruptured metal. Shepard glared at the viewer, while her cheeks, forehead, and pouty lacerated and bleeding mouth made her seem every bit the avenging angel.

The gleaming golden text, framing Shepard's defiant face like a halo, instantly caught Bumblebee's attention. Fornax's epitaph, a tribute to the late lamented and renowned galactic saviour, affirmed a simple visceral truth that made his spark throb with apprehension. '_In Memoriam of the Shepard, the Woman, the Warrior, and the Weapon that vanquished the Reaper menace'_. Bumblebee froze on the spot, he turned towards Jazz, and his vocaliser fizzed in agitation. He would have warned the older bot but the wily saboteur took one look at the expression on his face-plate and verbally verified his suspicions instead.

"Slag, it _is_ one of them".

Bumblebee was bewildered by his mentor's admission. He had not anticipated that Jazz would have had some familiarity with the subject of Shepard, the Reaper War, and Fornax's obsession with her penchant for voyeuristic cross-species liaisons. He grimaced, pinched his nasal-plate, and inhaled deeply through his vents to prevent himself from saying something regrettable. The ache was starting to creep into his processor, the usual result when he was frustrated by Jazz's secrecy, especially, when his superior neglected to share sensitive classified information. "_You've known what Perceptor found since before we started our investigation_!" accused Bumblebee.

Jazz's visor glowed a shade of calm cobalt blue. The bot exuded tranquillity in the way he casually leaned on the holo-table, his arms and pedes crossed at the elbow and ankle-joints as if he wasn't surprised by Bumblebee's assumption. "Obviously", affirmed Jazz. He shrugged his shoulder-plates nonchalantly. "It's my job to be in the _know _of things".

The simple confirmation, delivered without a hint of arrogance or apology, made Bumblebee's spark _burn_. He hated being left out of the loop when his aft was stuck right beside Jazz's on a mission that could end with their frames being smelted into slag. He scowled at his mentor, because after four hundred vorns of working together, he believed that he'd earned Jazz's confidence enough to be trusted with vital intelligence. "_I'm part of this team too you Pit-spawned-glitch_! _You can't just decide not to tell me something important_!" Bumblebee groaned irritably when he realised that Jazz, as the Head of Autobot Intelligence and Special Operations, had the right of rank and seniority to override any and all privileges usually extended to his subordinates.

The younger autobot, despite being exasperated with his mentor, quietened when Jazz snapped his fingers. The metallic crack of steel on steel was like a thunderclap that resounded off the command centre's walls, floor, and ceiling. The gesture was quick, loud, and shocking enough to silence Bumblebee. "Plug your pipes", advised the saboteur. "You used your awesome detective skills to figure it out on your own. I don't need to go into a long-winded and boring explanation. Saves time for my sweetspark to introduce herself nice and proper".

Bumblebee stared when Jazz graciously bowed to the hologram of the Reaper dreadnought hovering over the holo-table's glossy countertop. "Perce will keep Joule busy for another half a joor tops. You might want to shake those bolts loose baby, trip on down, and mingle while we got time". Bumblebee heard the exhale of a weary sigh. He glimpsed the flash of radiant blue in his peripheral vision, whirled to face the holo-table, and saw Jane's shapely avatar replace the rotating Reaper ship.

She sank onto the holo-table, tucked one leg under the other, and rested her arms across bent knees making herself comfortable. Bumblebee's reaction was more instinctive than conscious. His battle subroutines activated and the plates of his right arm shifted inward, the transformation cog rolled in its socket, joints clicked, pistons pumped, and servo-motors whirred as his wrist, hand, and fingertips disappeared. Bumblebee dropped to one knee on the grated metal floor, locked his elbow-joint, and directed the barrel of his arm-cannon towards the bulkhead that housed J4N3's primary memory core. The blank wall, the colour of brushed steel, was visible through the holographic plates of Jane's chest.

"You're a smart bot to go for the sweet-spot", praised the mining facility's AI. She smiled approvingly when Bumblebee aimed at the translucent transformation seam bisecting her torso. She raised a slender hand, extended her index-finger, and brought the tip to the plates of her mouth. Jane dragged that fingertip down the angular point of her chin, the slope of her throat, and over the rib of her holographic chest-plate until she was pointing dead-centre to the most vulnerable part of a cybertronian's frame. "You'd have a kill-shot at point-blank range if I were made of metal, carrying a spark around in my chest, and were virtually incapable of defending myself".

Jazz pouted. "Baby, there's no need to be rude". He started to sulk much to Bumblebee's confusion. The saboteur's visor pulsed in embarrassed shades of peach, pink, and a rich rosy red. His helm rocked forwards on his neck-struts, his shoulders sagged, and the usually straight line of his spinal-strut bowed. "It was one time. Perceptor got lucky. Yeah I was still ploughed through the wall, but I took him down with me, and then we found you. After that I didn't mind getting a few dents, a twisted ankle-joint, and a couple rocks piled on top of me. I'm not lonely anymore and Perce has been steadily dating Joule ever since our happy accident".

Jane arched a brow-plate, inclined her helm towards Jazz, and fearlessly looked him in the optic. "Goading a friend into a fight, falling through a rock-wall, and causing a cave-in didn't resolve your argument". Bumblebee was amazed when his mentor fidgeted on the spot, nervously twiddled his thumbs, and self-consciously shuffled his pedes. Jazz was acting like a guilty sparkling caught in the act of trying to swipe an energon-candy from a sealed jar full of sweet temptation. Jane recommended a more responsible reaction the next time he decided to blow a gasket, throw a punch, and dent Perceptor's helm.

"The next time Perceptor annoys you that much, do try to be the mature one, and turn around and walk away. You'll save Joule lots of credits on the bill for the clean-up and renovations. She'll complain less too".

Bumblebee exhaled noisily through his vents when Jazz's embarrassment vanished in a fit of laughter. He was perturbed by the easy-going camaraderie between his mentor and the mining facility's AI. Jane was certainly more than an acquaintance to Jazz. Bumblebee could hear their warm, amiable, and affectionate banter. He could also see their mutual respect and admiration for one another in the way that they exchanged fond looks and the occasional round of good-natured teasing. The foundation of their friendship had been laid over an extended period of time, which wasn't unusual when Bumblebee considered that Jazz had regularly accompanied Perceptor on his visits to the mining facility.

"I'll think about it, but I won't make any promises. Perce throws a mean uppercut when he's ready to smelt circuits. Besides we're burning kliks right now and time is a wasting", replied Jazz. He gestured to Bumblebee, grinned, and beckoned his apprentice forward. "I brought my right-hand bot along for the ride as promised, though it would be more polite for you to greet him in person".

Bumblebee tensed when Jane's glittering optics appraised him from helm to pede. She seemed to be weighing, dissecting, and scrutinising his every plate, bolt, and wire. He could barely repress the urge to squirm when the AI's holographic brow-plates furrowed. Several kliks passed in silence. Bumblebee glanced to his mentor for guidance. Jazz pressed a single finger to his mouth-plates in the universal sign for his apprentice to continue muting his vocaliser until Jane made her decision.

"Fine", declared Jane. She eyed Bumblebee cagily noting how the barrel of his arm-cannon hadn't once strayed from its target. She grimaced, was obviously uncomfortable with the situation, but reluctantly nodded her helm. "Nice gun, just don't shoot a hole through the bulkhead behind me or you'll scrap my primary memory core. I run everything from the sanitation drones that clean the drains to the energon dispensers that fuel my crew. You slag me. You slag the mining facility, so, be a responsible bot and keep your finger off the trigger".

Jane threw her shoulders back, straightened her spinal-strut, and proudly lifted her chin-plate. Jazz stepped back to give her space. Bumblebee saw the encouraging smile on his mentor's face-plate. The saboteur had yet to rebuke him for drawing a weapon on the AI, but, he also hadn't issued an order to stand-down. The scout was baffled by Jazz's behaviour but he trusted his superior's judgement.

Bumblebee watched Jane and every strut, nut, and cable in his frame tightened to the point of pain. He gawked when her holographic avatar swelled, blurred round the edges, and darkened into different shades and colours. She grew in shape, size, and form from the hologram, a third of Bumblebee's height, into something that was a match for his girth and stature. His optics widened in alarm when the lines of faux transformation seams, struts, and plates morphed into the navy trim of body-armour that clung to womanly hips, dips, and curves. Jane's boxy cybertronian figure smoothed over, her arms and legs lengthened, and the artificial joints that had interconnected her wrists, elbows, knees, and ankles to her arms, calves, and pedes disappeared.

Thick fingers, square hands, and hard palms became nimble five-fingered gauntlets. Rectangular pedes changed into the rounded toes and heels of combat boots with rugged soles. Jane's chest-plate divided in two, engorged, and hardened into the accommodating curves of a womanly breastplate. Her cylindrical shoulders, arms, and wrists transformed from solid tubes into the distinctly individual overlapping plates of bracers, elbow, and shoulder-guards. Conical hips, thighs, and calves grew plumper and more curvaceous inside the flexible sheathes of shin, knee, and thigh-guards.

Bumblebee was astonished to see the silhouette of Jane's face, chin, and neck-plates soften into something rounder, fuller, and more feminine. She was beautiful in a way that was spark-achingly familiar. "_Primus_", gasped Bumblebee when he surveyed the changes that Jane had undergone. The hydraulic lines in his right arm hissed, his wrist rolled inwards, and the elbow-joint spun one-hundred and eighty degrees. The barrel of Bumblebee's arm-cannon dismantled in a buzz of shifting plates and loosening wires. He flexed his fingers and thumb while hair sprouted from the bald pate of Jane's helm, cascaded down over the rounded shell of her human ears, and feathered round the nape of her neck.

The AI J4N3 was gone and in her place, sitting cross-legged on the holo-table, was Commander Jane Shepard. Bumblebee rose unsteadily from his crouch on the floor. He crossed the room in a daze, pedes clanking, and closed the distance between himself and the hologram of the woman he'd read about in the 245e Solar Edition of Fornax. He wanted to determine if she was as real as she appeared to be and to ask why she ran the technological side of Joule's mining operation off-world.

Bumblebee met Shepard's gaze, optic to eye, and he was cast adrift in an ocean of empathy, vast memory, and overwhelming sorrow. The words choked in his vocaliser. He trembled like a frightened sparkling set before a rabid turbo-wolf. "Hey, it's all right. I'm not going to hurt you. Just take a deep breath, calm down, and relax", assured Shepard. Her voice, filled with gentle reassurance, soothed the worst of Bumblebee's fear.

Shepard watched him carefully for a few moments, gauging his reaction, and frowned when Jazz's apprentice avoided her eye. His uneasiness in her presence was terribly noticeable. Bumblebee stood stiff as a board, his hands quivered at his sides, and his shoulders were hunched. He resembled a sparkling awaiting a sound scolding from his Creator. Shepard looked to Jazz with a puzzled expression on her face, arched an eyebrow, and nodded to the cowering bot before her.

"Oh. He's been reading Fornax baby, you know, the 245e Solar Edition". The saboteur gave her the once-over from head to toe, pursed his lip-plates, and wolf-whistled appreciatively. Shepard rolled her eyes. Men, in her experience, were the same regardless of their species. "Sweetspark, I'm a mech, and we like smooth lines, long legs, and curves in all the right places. Your lovely armour gives the impression that you'd make one sexy cybertronian femme".

Bumblebee's optics glinted a shade of mortified pastel blue. He slapped a hand across his face-plate, groaned into the cage of his fingers, and for the first time in a hundred vorns he wished that Jazz wasn't a shameless flirt. Bumblebee usually didn't mind his mentor sweet-talking other bots, but, when he was faced with a hologram of Commander Jane Shepard clad in a suit of armour rather than a cybertronian frame. Jazz's boldness seemed disrespectful.

"_Would you stow the one-liners, pull your helm out of your aft, and tell me what the frag is going on here_!"


	3. A Piece of Software

**Aftermath **

_**By Pyreite**_

**Fandom:** AU – Mass Effect x Bayverse Transformers Movies

**Rating:** M – Contains _Mature_ themes

**Setting:** Set _seven hundred years_ after Darkside of the Moon and _four hundred years_ after Mass Effect 3 – Control ending. Takes place in the same universe as oneshot _Baby-bots, Spark-Attacks, and Cuddle-Buddies_.

**Synopsis:**Jazz brings Bumblebee on a mission to a remote energon mining facility in deep-space to investigate Perceptor's unusual scientific discovery, a Reaper dreadnought, slumbering in the tunnels underneath the mine. The mine's AI, J4N3, a close friend of Jazz, unknowingly inherited the gift preserved inside the genetic code of the first human ally of the Autobot's, Samuel Witwicky.

A gift that like Pandora's Box, once opened could save or destroy the last surviving scions of Primus's legacy, Optimus Prime, the Autobots, and the remnants of the Decepticon forces.

**Starring:** Jazz, Bumblebee, Perceptor, a reaperised Commander Jane Shepard, a moody miner-bot, some old Autobot friends, and several hundred miniaturised insecticons.

**Warnings:** _This story contains a xenophile romance between an AI and an Autobot, some cuddling, spontaneous kissing, references to interfacing equipment, budding sparklings, Fornax, Shepard's oddity of attracting suitors among aliens species, and coarse language, especially, cybertronian curse words, like frag, slag, and glitch. Discretion is advised. _

_**Chapter 3: A Piece of Software**_

_**From last time:**_

_Bumblebee's optics glinted a shade of mortified pastel blue. He slapped a hand across his face-plate, groaned into the cage of his fingers, and for the first time in a hundred vorns he wished that Jazz wasn't a shameless flirt. Bumblebee usually didn't mind his mentor sweet-talking other bots, but, when he was faced with a hologram of Commander Jane Shepard clad in a suit of armour rather than a cybertronian frame. Jazz's boldness seemed disrespectful. _

"_Would you stow the one-liners, pull your helm out of your aft, and tell me what the frag is going on here!" _

The usually articulate scout flinched when he heard Shepard's boisterous braying laughter. Cybertronian mirth, synthesized through vocalisers, had a reverberating robotic quality. Bumblebee was used to hearing the deep gong-like growls of Optimus's amusement and the sweet bell-like chiming of Wheelie's vent-gagging giggles. Old or young, each autobot had a distinctly unique laugh. Shepard's rib-popping, chest-wheezing, and body-shaking chortles were softer, silkier, and infectious when coupled with the wry grin of her mouth, the crinkling of her eyes, and the charming flush in her cheeks.

She blazed like a cheery holographic sun whose gravitational pull threw Bumblebee's processor into a dizzying spin. The fluid energon cycling through his fuel-pump swished, churned, and bubbled until a sickening nausea settled inside his fuel-tank. Heat sizzled in the circuits behind his face-plate. The spherical casing of fused cybertronian alloys secreted away inside his chest-plates, could barely contain the discordant thump of his smitten spark. Bumblebee peered nervously at Jazz, timidly rubbed his rapidly warming cheek-plates, and tried to maintain a measure of dignity despite how Shepard's beaming face made his fuel-lines tingle.

Her laughter gradually lessened over several kliks, though the occasional peek at the smug and smiling Jazz often reignited a round of throaty snickering. Shepard had rarely lived, laughed, and loved since that fateful night in the year 2186, when she had died, and translated her soul into the ancient programming language of a biomechanical race of space-faring machines. Her consciousness was a web of neglected algorithms, chaotic subroutines, and inefficient processes preserved inside the Reaper dreadnought slumbering in Joule's basement. Shepard, a woman of stern words and staunch beliefs, took an instantaneous liking to the irascible Bumblebee. His volatile temper and foul-mouth reminded her of Jack while his bashfulness was reminiscent of her poor sweet Garrus.

Shepard's sensors, buried in the command centre's walls, floor, and ceiling detected the rise in Bumblebee's core temperature. She had observed the mining facility's senior medic, Solder, doing delicate surgeries, standard maintenance checks, and routine tune-ups often enough to be familiar with the subtlest of changes in cybertronian physiology. Bumblebee was running hotter than normal, casting furtive glances in her direction, and trying hard to appear as if crude computations _weren't_ occupying the mathematical centre of his processor. Shepard slid her legs off the holo-table, invitingly splayed her thighs for a klik just to tease the young bot, and leisurely swung one knee, calf, and ankle over the other. Bumblebee's optics followed every motion she made like a hungry varren eying a dish of freshly butchered pyjak-meat.

Shepard asked the scout a question with a saucy sparkle in her eye. "So, how do I compare to Fornax's finest?"

Bumblebee was distracted by the smooth lines and pleasing curves of Shepard's armour. The streamlined plates, clinging like a second skin, emphasized her ample bosom, broad hips, and delightfully long legs. She was a woman encased in a cybertronian shell, an exotic enigma waiting to be unravelled. The impish smirking of Shepard's lips and the mischievous twinkling in her eyes, made Bumblebee's spark flutter like an insecticon's wings. "Well in the 245e Solar Edition of Fornax you spent eighty-five percent of the time nude, ten percent partially clothed, and five percent posing seductively in scorched armour".

Shepard's eyes widened, her brows arched in surprise, and she gasped astounded. She glimpsed Jazz puffing in the corner, out of breath, and shivering from helm to pede as if he were on the verge of a seizure. He was enjoying the awkwardness that Bumblebee had inadvertently heaped into her lap. Shepard tucked an errant strand of hair behind an ear, bit her lip, and responded with crisp honesty. "Sounds about right for Fornax, though, I'm not sure if I should be flattered or disturbed. You've obviously memorised the entire e-zine. Now I'm wondering if you're a closet xenophile or just genuinely curious about the mating rituals of organic lifeforms".

Jazz quivered like a slack suspension coil. His arms were wound so tightly round his pelvic-plates that he compressed the ventilation chamber aerating his frame. His vents droned in distress while fiery-red warning messages blinking inside his visor, alerted the panting saboteur to the dangerous overheating of his cybernetic components. Jazz muted his vocaliser to spare Bumblebee from the spark-crushing fate of hearing his raucous plate-rattling guffaws. He wanted to safeguard the bot's confidence, though he couldn't stop himself from sliding down a wall, doubling over nasal-plate to knee-joint, and silently cackling until his vents clogged.

Shepard, a trained soldier, had gone for the kill. Bumblebee's optics shuttered and opened several times in rapid succession. He couldn't believe her audacity. Shepard had a pair of brassy bearings to accuse him of being a voyeur when, according to the 245e Solar Edition of Fornax, she preferred to date exclusively outside her own species. "Says the human AI with a fetish for dating aliens", retorted Bumblebee.

Shepard's face softened. She remembered the spiny turian who had been a comrade in arms, a best friend, and a wonderfully considerate lover. Her eyes were watery, her smile wistful, and her answer was reverent rather than woeful. "Fornax is always more fiction than fact. I only ever seriously dated one guy. He was six feet tall, covered in coarse plate-like scales, and embodied everything that I loved, valued, and respected. He was my perfect man. Sweet, shy, sensitive, and one hell of a sharpshooter".

Shepard's melancholy unsettled Bumblebee. Her voice was laden with tenderness though her face mirrored the grief of a woman who had lost their partner, paramour, and spark-mate. Bumblebee's fuel-intake constricted, causing a painful kink in the flexible oesophagus-like tube that linked to the fuel-tank inside his frame. The seed of attraction, newly sown inside his spark, guttered like a candle-flame before Shepard's disheartened face. Her psyche, a simulation of Reaper code, was locked in cyberspace, neither living nor dead, but sentient enough to express the weariness and misery of a woman resigned to enduring an eternity alone.

Water beaded and swelled into glistening dewdrops on Shepard's eyelashes. She frowned when Bumblebee stared, transfixed, by the sight of her tears rolling down like transparent pearls. Shepard touched a hand to her cheek, blinked blearily, and drew away wet and wobbly fingers. Her head shook in denial despite the virtual moisture saturating her fingertips. Bumblebee's processor reeled in confusion when Shepard spoke in a tone so dry, cool, and mechanistic that she sounded as impassive and lifeless as stone.

"I haven't cried in four centuries, but thinking about Garrus just now, reminded me of how much I miss him".

Shepard sighed when a silver cybertronian hand cupped her jaw. She unconsciously leaned into the comforting touch of the agile fingers and thumb stroking her face. Her head lolled trustingly within the cradle of Jazz's palm while Bumblebee, witnessing their closeness, felt his spark ache. The interaction between them, an exchange of pressure and sensation, showed that Shepard possessed an unusual adaptation for a hologram. She was real, tangible, and alive in a way that suggested she was more than a mere holographic ghost able to appear and vanish on command.

"You're not a piece of software", murmured Jazz. He had recovered from the laughing fit induced by Bumblebee's lax common-sense, though the air exhaled through his vents was still hot and shimmering. The many cogs, cables, conduits, modules, and mechanisms that formed the nucleus of his automated innards were still cooling down. Bumblebee was captivated when the hard ridge of Jazz's thumb caressed the pliant bow of Shepard's lower-lip. The velvety skin looked lusciously kissable, but the AI stubbornly splayed her fingers across the saboteur's lip-plates to prevent him from making a public display of affection.

"I'm a virtual facsimile of a dead woman's memories, crushed hopes, and broken dreams". Shepard rubbed her cheek upon the plates of Jazz's palm, smiled sadly, and gently pried the fingers holding her jaw loose. "I may be more complex than a string of ones and zeroes but that doesn't change what I am. I exist inside a simulated reality. My decisions are governed by variables, equations, and calculations. I think like a machine, therefore, I am a piece of software".

Shepard stiffened when the concave band of Jazz's visor retracted into his helm. His sapphire optics, glowing like twin lanterns, reminded her of Garrus's luminous eyes. She was startled when he countered her claim with a contentious question. "Then do you think that I'm just a mindless cold-sparked drone?" Jazz's optics darkened to a moody shade of dusky navy blue.

His nasal-plates wrinkled in annoyance. Shepard was always thinking along the methodical lines of machine-like logic rather than the clear, concise, and candid rationality in-built in most cybertronians. She acted more like an automaton than the Autobots themselves even though Jazz and his fellows had been sparked, manufactured, and rolled off an assembly line pre-programmed. He argued that same tiring point again. "My spark may reside inside a steel frame but that does not make me incapable of experiencing emotion".

Bumblebee heard the iciness, hurt, and exasperation in Jazz's voice. His mentor's suave speech was hard, strained, and gravelly. He glanced between them unsure if he should intervene. Bumblebee had never known the older bot to lose his temper in the middle of an argument. Jazz was usually content to let others snap and snarl while he maintained the calm equilibrium of the sensible peacemaker.

Shepard plucked his silver cybertronian fingers from her face. She knew that he wanted more than she was ready to give beyond the comfortable boundary of their friendship. Garrus had never demanded her attention like Jazz, being content to savour those rare moments that they'd been able to claim for themselves during the Reaper War. Shepard remembered Kaidan's indignant scowl when he had inquired, long ago, about her relationship with the brave bright-eyed turian. She saw that same resentfulness mirrored upon the silvered planes of Jazz's face-plate.

Four hundred and fifteen years had passed since the conclusion of the Reaper War. The flow of time that governed the rest of the universe did not influence Shepard. She was more machine than human, more artificial than real, more synthetic than mortal. "The processor in your helm and the alloys that reinforce your frame don't enable you to think, feel, and interact with the world", explained Shepard. She grasped Jazz's wrist, turned his hand over, and examined the peaks and valleys of the joints that secured the segments of his mechanical digits together.

Shepard saw strong fingers that were thick at the base but tapered to thin claw-like tips ideal for dexterous movement. She admired the broad palm that was a patchwork of scuffs, scratches, and fine lines from old welding scars. The marks of Jazz's long and eventful existence were visible upon the plates of his hand. He had seen battle, experienced conflict, and survived a war without becoming jaded and embittered by the memories of suffering and loss. Jazz had been tempered in the fires of adversity and he'd emerged older, wiser, and more appreciative of life's simplest pleasures.

Shepard mused on the irony of how she too had once been a bearer of arms, a commander of soldiers, and an admiral leading an army in war. She'd had callused hands, scars from new and old injuries, and a plethora of advanced cybernetics buried in the skin, bones, and muscles of her body. Four centuries disembodied and she could still remember the texture of roughened skin, the discomfort of a healing injury, and the resilience of mesh-weaves, implants, and metal bones. Shepard regarded Jazz kindly though her eyes, once lively and playful, were dull and glassy. The vowels, consonants, and syllables rolling off her tongue were enunciated dulcetly though the words were subdued.

"You have a spark, a source of sapience, of sentience, and life".

Bumblebee was worried by the change in his mentor's posture. He saw Jazz's proud helm bow, the confident line of his shoulders droop, and his spinal-strut bend as if a great weight were bearing down upon him. The bot shuddered from helm to pede when Shepard's fingertips traced over the dip of his inner elbow, the slant of his upper-arm, and the rounded ball of his shoulder-joint. Bumblebee watched her fingers slide down Jazz's throat and collar-strut until her hand hovered over the centre of his chest-plate. Shepard pressed her palm flat over the armour shielding his spark, spread her fingers wide, and told the saboteur something that kindled comprehension in Bumblebee's processor.

"You're alive like EDI and the Geth. You have their inquisitiveness, their thirst to evolve, and their desire to understand the world around them. You're dynamic, motivated to grow, and capable of changing".

Bumblebee realised that Jazz was a fully-fledged member of Shepard's social-circle. He was respected, recognised, and acknowledged as her peer, equal, and friend. The oddity was intriguing, especially when most humans Bumblebee had met, barring a treasured handful, had feared the existence of intelligent cybernetic organisms. If J4N3 was an authentic simulation of the infamous Commander Jane Shepard, than she was just as rare and precious as Samuel Witwicky. The scout wondered if his mentor was truly aware of the treasure hiding right under his nasal-plate.

Jazz was stunned.

He gaped at Shepard in disbelief. The hinge of his jaw-strut hung limply, leaving his mouth hanging open, and his lip-plates forming a shocked circle. Jazz had not expected such clarity, wisdom, and foresight from an entity younger than himself by several thousand vorns. His spark hammered under his rib-struts when he perceived that Shepard possessed the same altruism, fortitude, and compassion inherent in the Leader of the Autobots. The way she criticised her own flaws, urged him to seek another love interest, and expressed her sincere wishes for his happiness won another piece of Jazz's spark.

"I'm a static imitation of life existing inside a colourless, shapeless, and featureless void. I'm not lost, broken, or defective. I'm sparkless, frameless, and technically dead by cybertronian standards. Jazz, you need to accept, to understand, that you deserve so much better. I honestly believe you would be happier with another cybertronian, someone a little closer to home, that's not a creepy undead AI like me".

Shepard's poignant explanation helped Jazz to understand the rationale behind her gentle discouragement. She had the perception of a Prime and was trying to dissuade him from making a terrible mistake. She wasn't arguing, coercing, or intimidating him. Shepard was merely stating the facts, expressing her concerns, and attempting to avert disaster. Jazz captured the hand pressing on the plates of his chest before she could withdraw those deftly_ wicked_ fingers making his spark pulsate erratically.


	4. A Resiliently Robust Hologram

**Aftermath **

_**By Pyreite**_

**Fandom:** AU – Mass Effect x Bayverse Transformers Movies

**Rating:** M – Contains _Mature_ themes

**Setting:** Set _seven hundred years_ after Darkside of the Moon and _four hundred years_ after Mass Effect 3 – Control ending. Takes place in the same universe as oneshot _Baby-bots, Spark-Attacks, and Cuddle-Buddies_.

**Synopsis:**Jazz brings Bumblebee on a mission to a remote energon mining facility in deep-space to investigate Perceptor's unusual scientific discovery, a Reaper dreadnought, slumbering in the tunnels underneath the mine. The mine's AI, J4N3, a close friend of Jazz, unknowingly inherited the gift preserved inside the genetic code of the first human ally of the Autobot's, Samuel Witwicky.

A gift that like Pandora's Box, once opened could save or destroy the last surviving scions of Primus's legacy, Optimus Prime, the Autobots, and the remnants of the Decepticon forces.

**Starring:** Jazz, Bumblebee, Perceptor, a reaperised Commander Jane Shepard, a moody miner-bot, some old Autobot friends, and several hundred miniaturised insecticons.

**Warnings:** _This story contains a xenophile romance between an AI and an Autobot, some cuddling, spontaneous kissing, references to interfacing equipment, budding sparklings, Fornax, Shepard's oddity of attracting suitors among aliens species, and coarse language, especially, cybertronian curse words, like frag, slag, and glitch. Discretion is advised. _

_**Chapter 4: A Resiliently Robust Hologram**_

_**From last time:**_

_Shepard's poignant explanation helped Jazz to understand the rationale behind her gentle discouragement. She had the perception of a Prime and was trying to dissuade him from making a terrible mistake. She wasn't arguing, coercing, or intimidating him. Shepard was merely stating the facts, expressing her concerns, and attempting to avert disaster. Jazz captured the hand pressing on the plates of his chest before she could withdraw those deftly wicked fingers making his spark pulsate erratically. _

He saw through her ruse clear as glass. Shepard like Optimus could make a valid argument, but Jazz had worked with the Prime long enough, to know when and how, to counteract that honourable self-sacrificing mind-set. She wanted to spare him spark-ache while condemning herself to serve Joule for several more vorns of drudgery and isolation. Jazz marvelled over the weight and solidity integral to Shepard's core programming, the sensation of her gauntleted fingers entwining with his own was an irresistible temptation. She was sparkless, frameless, and preserved inside a Reaper's neural network but with Bumblebee's help, with Optimus's approval, and her willing assistance that could change.

Jazz locked their hands together. He enjoyed the sight of their interlaced fingers. He hoped that holding Shepard's hand right now was a sign of something more precious, personal, and permanent developing between them in the future. He squeezed her fingers, observed her startled expression with a fond smile, and deliberately exposed her need to sabotage her own happiness. "A Prime guides their people, is the voice of reason amidst chaos, and leads with a gentle but firm and fair hand in times of war and peace". Jazz pondered the oddity of finding another being that personified Optimus's noble ideals but lacked the conviction to save herself from the doldrums of servitude.

"A Prime isn't selfish, they're too damned honest, and are always ready to forfeit their own wellbeing for the greater good".

Shepard's eyes blazed like hot embers, her lip curled sullenly, and she looked grumpy enough to break the saboteur's nasal-plate. Jazz grinned insolently. He was ready to resolve her hostility with a _sinful_ demonstration of devotion. "You were the Prime for your people, sweetspark, but your judgement is impaired right now. You need to stand down, give me the reins, and trust me enough to know that I will do my very best to rescue you from Joule's clutches".

Shepard opened her mouth to object. Jazz took the opportunity offered, devious as a Decepticon, and swooped in to deliver the payload. "I volunteered for this-_Mmmph_!" Shepard's eyes bulged; her lips were under an assault of gargantuan proportions, and poor Bumblebee was being given live instruction on how to seduce an AI with a penchant for smooching aliens. The scout's helm veered left and right as curiosity took root; he was soon scurrying around Jazz, trying to get a better look at their locking lips and curling glossa.

"_Wow_!" crowed Bumblebee. He poked a metal fingertip into the curve of Shepard's cheek. He was more excited than appalled when her holographic skin sank inwards forming a pliant depression. "You're not just an organic emulation! You're actually solid, tangible, and squishy! Primus this is awesome!" Bumblebee froze when Shepard's head rolled back, he saw her jaw widen to accommodate Jazz, and witnessed the saboteur's glossa invading her mouth in a passionate kiss.

"_This is way worse than anything Fornax dished up in the 245e Solar Edition_!"

The scout averted his optics when Jazz's glossa glinted like liquid silver through the semi-transparent sheen of Shepard's skin. He heard the moans, slurping, and sucking sounds associated with those revolting displays of affection Samuel Witwicky had once practiced in the backseat of his vehicle-mode. Jazz had certainly been spending the best part of the last six vorns doing more than just reconnaissance and surveillance missions. Bumblebee had seen the fruits of his mentor's laborious research into the modus operandi of French-kissing.

Five breems passed in an awkward hush occasionally disrupted by a gush of reverberating groans, raspy inhalations, and the click of nipping teeth and dental-plates. Bumblebee rolled his optics, impatiently drummed his fingers on the holo-table, and sighed into the palm of the hand holding up his face-plate. He was sitting cross-legged on the command centre's grated metal floor, waiting for Jazz to finish sticking his glossa down Shepard's holographic throat. Bumblebee could barely see her under the bulk of his mentor's silver frame, she was sprawled across the holo-table, and Jazz was draped across her chest, waist, and thighs. He was thankful that Shepard was such a resiliently robust hologram.

Jazz was one of the smallest autobots, but he wasn't a light weight on the scales.

Bumblebee crossed his arms, studied the xenophile knot of snogging bot and humanoid AI, and complained bitterly. "_Primus_! _Will you two stop trying to suck out each other's vocalisers_! _I'm starting to rust over here_!" Bumblebee grumbled when Jazz finally came up for air, smacked his lip-plates in satisfaction, and had the nerve to grin impudently. "_You're an arrogant bolt-brained bastard_! _I've been watching you swallow Shepard's face-plate for five breems_! _You're lucky I didn't shoot you out of spite_!"

Bumblebee flexed his neck, winced when he cracked the vertebrae in his spinal-strut, and gingerly unfolded his legs. His joints creaked, his plates were stiff, and his aft was numb. "_Slaggit_! _Now my hinges need oiling_!" He scowled when he saw the silver cybertronian hand thrust under his nasal-plate. Bumblebee eyeballed his smug mentor, sulkily slapped the bot's hand aside, and cursed his way through the mortifying process of dragging his aft, hip, and leg-struts underneath his bulky frame. He seized the holo-table's rim in a death-grip until his wobbling knee-joints could bear his weight again.

Shepard wiped lubricant from her mouth and avoided looking Bumblebee in the optic. She radiated the shame of a cybertronian femme caught in the act of trying to frag a studly mech during work-joors. Bumblebee saw the crackle of static electricity lancing between her gauntleted fingers in sizzling blue arcs. The surplus charge, the precursor to the hotter, heavier, and more intimate mechanics of dual-interfacing incited an abrupt protest. "_Negative_! _You two are not fragging like turbo-bunnies while I play lookout_! _I have better things to do than watch your perverted spinal-struts while you have a good time_!"

Shepard choked on her own holographic saliva. She coughed until she wheezed, the curves of her breastplate briskly expanding and contracting under the stress of her ragged breathing. Shepard's torso twisted when Jazz tenderly rubbed her back. She swatted the conceited bot, shoved him away when he laughed, and resumed gagging on her own larynx. She was voiceless for several kliks but cognisant enough to raise her arm, curl her fingers into a tight ball, and shake an incensed fist at her ardently unrepentant assailant.

Jazz blew her a kiss. "Love you too, baby". Bumblebee felt a twinge of sympathy for Shepard. The transparent curves of her face were flushed an angry red from brow to chin. She was grimacing distastefully, eying Jazz like a turbo-cat would a glitch-mouse, and her hand was arching over her shoulder as if she were reaching for an assault-rifle magnetized to her armour.

Shepard's searching fingers closed on empty air. "_Damn it_!" She sometimes forgot that she no longer carried an arsenal of side-arms and heavy-weapons around on her back like a tortoise bore the burden of its own shell. Old habits died hard. Shepard would always want to shoot the things that vexed her, especially twenty-foot tall talking trash-cans, who thought they had an exclusive one way ticket to her tonsils.

She jabbed an enraged finger at Jazz. "_Bastard_! I was trying to do you a favour!" Shepard twisted her wrist, focused on the bot beside her, and flicked her thumb at Bumblebee. "You'd be better off shacking up with your own kind than mooning over me!" The scout recoiled in revulsion.

"_No slagging way_! I already work with that lunatic every orn! I am not warming his berth too!"

Bumblebee returned Shepard's miffed gaze, optic to eye, and adamantly shook his helm. Jazz was his friend, superior, and patronising older brother. He classified the saboteur as _family_ in his processor. Jazz was therefore not a viable option for romantic pursuit. The very idea of sharing smooches with his _brother _and_ boss_ made Bumblebee want to purge his fuel-tank.

"_I'd prefer to shoot Jazz's aft than jump it_! _ He's all yours_!"

Shepard's ire dissipated in a rush of nostalgia. She watched the troublemaker himself giving her that spine-tinglingly _hungry_ look of a mech who wanted to consume her body, heart, and simulated soul. Garrus had always worn that same expression before an achingly slow and pleasantly exhausting round of lovemaking. Shepard buried her holographic face in the palms of her hands, whimpered pathetically, and wished that she wasn't a magnet of attraction for the universe's oddest suitors. She peered at Jazz through the bars of her fingers, saw that infuriating haughtiness soften, and recognised that the walking silver tank was hopelessly besotted.

Shepard tensed when the saboteur crossed the floor again. He reached up, covered her hands with his own, and with gentle pressure prised her fingers from her face. Jazz knew that she was disconcerted by his interest and agitated by his flagrant show of passion. He had reacted on instinct, thrown caution to the wind, and stolen something that should have been willingly surrendered. "I'm not sorry that I kissed you. I do regret not asking permission first, but, I know you wouldn't have approved".

Shepard tried to pull away but Jazz's grip on her wrists tightened. His thumbs stroked her gauntleted knuckles. He was trying to reassure her in a way that could convey the depth of his feelings without compromising her personal space and comfort. Courting another cybertronian, mech or femme, would have been relatively straight-forward, but Shepard was neither cybertronian nor an autonomous robotic lifeform. Jazz was handsome but he suspected that glossy plates, chromed bumpers, dazzling headlights, and the erogenous zones in sensor wires and panels wouldn't excite a humanoid AI.

"I know that my plates aren't rough like a sand-belter but you don't think I'm ugly right?"

Commander Jane Shepard, put on the spot, stared pitifully at the sweet, foolish, and admirably persistent bot. The plea in his voice was apprehensive. He was afraid of rejection but willing to wager his spark in the risky game of romance. Jazz's anxiety was so reminiscent of Garrus that she laughed. He pouted unhappily, assumed her cheerful tittering was meant to wound his pride, and resigned himself to being the boob on the receiving end of a cosmic joke.

"Right, laugh at the bot that's jealous of your scaly organic boyfriend".

Shepard laughed till she cried. Her initial tears had long since dried, but now, when faced with a genuinely distressed Jazz, the pressure built in the corners of her eyes. The tears flowed anew. She was keenly reminded of how Garrus had made her weep, smile, and laugh with a kiss brimming with love, an affectionate embrace, and his endearing awkwardness. Jazz was grumbling under his breath clearly peeved when Shepard kicked off the holo-table's sturdy rim, lunged, and threw her arms round his shoulder-plates.

"You can mimic weight mechanics too. Now that's impressive", complimented Bumblebee. He heard his mentor yelp, saw him stagger clumsily, and counted the kliks until the precariously top-heavy bot collapsed onto the floor. Bumblebee clapped when Shepard, straddling Jazz like a horse, threw him down with a deft twist of her hips. She rode the heftier bot like a surf-board, knees tucked tight into the wedge of his hip-struts, as he toppled over arms pin-wheeling. They crashed in a tangle of limbs, flashes of silver, and the resonant ringing of mirth and metal.

Shepard's snickering was echoed by Jazz's deeper, huskier, and more masculine chuckles. The laughter receded until a companionable silence settled between them. Shepard shared an amicable smile with her sly devotee. His determination to insinuate himself into the dregs of her uneventful existence over the past two vorns had brightened many dark days and lonely nights. His doggedness, a mixture of nosiness and curiosity, had driven him to sniff her out, pester her like a tenacious bulldog, and laid the foundation of their friendship.

Shepard lay across Jazz's frame like a leisurely cat. She propped her elbows on his spacious silver chest-plate, tucked her chin into the palm of her hand, and with the other traced mysterious designs on her durable metal mattress. Shepard arched an eyebrow when Jazz stretched his arms, lifted his helm, and casually placed his hands underneath his neck-strut before reclining on the floor again. "Your sidekick's right. You _are_ an arrogant bolt-brained bastard. Look at you, lying there, smug as you please. You think you've won me over".

Jazz grinned roguishly. "Actually I'm thinking how good you look using me as a berth-mat". He admired Shepard's glistening eyes and rosy cheeks. Her face was damp but the sadness, fear, and unease were gone. She was wonderfully expressive when she was relaxed, happy, and comfortable enough to remember her humanity.

Shepard cupped the hinge of Jazz's jaw, curved her fingers round his chin, and daintily rubbed a thumb over firm yet pliable silver lips. He was quiet when she caressed the plates of his cheek. The metal, unexpectedly warm, evoked memories of Garrus resting in her bed inside the Captain's quarters of the Normandy SR-2, patiently enduring her exploratory touches. Jazz had the turian's tolerance though he lacked the courtesy to let her take the lead. Shepard saw him unbend an elbow, straighten an arm, and pull a hand from behind his helm.

"What are you doing?"

The saboteur wiggled his fingers. "You started it sweetspark. Now it's my turn". Shepard felt his hand glide across her bare neck to the collar of her holographic hard-suit. Jazz petted the smooth planes of her shoulders, kneaded the sinuous curve of her spine, and fondled her plump armoured buttocks. He grunted when Shepard pinched the bridge of his nasal-plate in retaliation.

"Now who's playing dirty?"


	5. The Reaper Master AI

**Aftermath **

_**By Pyreite**_

**Fandom:** AU – Mass Effect x Bayverse Transformers Movies

**Rating:** M – Contains _Mature_ themes

**Setting:** Set _seven hundred years_ after Darkside of the Moon and _four hundred years_ after Mass Effect 3 – Control ending. Takes place in the same universe as oneshot _Baby-bots, Spark-Attacks, and Cuddle-Buddies_.

**Synopsis:**Jazz brings Bumblebee on a mission to a remote energon mining facility in deep-space to investigate Perceptor's unusual scientific discovery, a Reaper dreadnought, slumbering in the tunnels underneath the mine. The mine's AI, J4N3, a close friend of Jazz, unknowingly inherited the gift preserved inside the genetic code of the first human ally of the Autobot's, Samuel Witwicky.

A gift that like Pandora's Box, once opened could save or destroy the last surviving scions of Primus's legacy, Optimus Prime, the Autobots, and the remnants of the Decepticon forces.

**Starring:** Jazz, Bumblebee, Perceptor, a reaperised Commander Jane Shepard, a moody miner-bot, some old Autobot friends, and several hundred miniaturised insecticons.

**Warnings:** _This story contains a xenophile romance between an AI and an Autobot, some cuddling, spontaneous kissing, references to interfacing equipment, budding sparklings, Fornax, Shepard's oddity of attracting suitors among aliens species, and coarse language, especially, cybertronian curse words, like frag, slag, and glitch. Discretion is advised. _

_**Chapter 5: The Reaper Master AI**_

_**From last time:**_

_The saboteur wiggled his fingers. "You started it sweetspark. Now it's my turn". Shepard felt his hand glide across her bare neck to the collar of her holographic hard-suit. Jazz petted the smooth planes of her shoulders, kneaded the sinuous curve of her spine, and fondled her plump armoured buttocks. He grunted when Shepard pinched the bridge of his nasal-plate in retaliation._

"_Now who's playing dirty?"_

Shepard squirmed when Jazz slid his hand over her hip, squeezed the faux plates, and slithered his fingers into the inviting seams bordering her armour. He sent a teasing bolt of electricity zipping along those wonderful curves like liquid energon cycling through a fuel-line. The flurry of blue-white sparks had an unpredictable effect on Shepard. Jazz was mesmerised when she tossed her head back, arched her spine in pleasure, and opened her mouth to exhale a velvety sigh. The rapture upon her face made him vent hard, hot, and heavily.

"_Primus_!"

The saboteur was suddenly conscious of Shepard's body astride his own. She was light by cybertronian standards, being a hologram with minimal mass, but she could still trick his sensors into believing that she was more than an emulation of humanoid life. She certainly felt delightfully unwieldy enough to send a shiver of anticipation through Jazz's circuits. Shepard panted, collected her rapidly crumbling wits, and clasped his wrist. She wrenched his hand away before he could send another bolt of energy racing through the seams of her pelvic armour.

Bumblebee ogled the supple line of Shepard's spine, the nape of her neck, and the base of her skull. He saw a web of delicate circuits running up and down her armoured back like the fine lines of organic blood vessels entangled round short, thick, and robust human bones. The vertebrae of her spinal column, interlocked like links in a chain, faded in and out of sight in bursts of electricity. The holographic plates of her armour, acting like a pane of smoked glass, lightened to reveal the lattice of glittering circuits before darkening to conceal the macabre display. Shepard's head turned, she seemed to sense Bumblebee watching, and he saw her eyes glowing like stars.

The strands of her hair flowed around her cheeks, chin, and the nape of her neck in an invisible wind. The ridges of her eye-sockets, the hollow of her nasal cavity, and the teeth embedded in her mandibles were visible through the translucent veil of her skin. Shepard's skull blazed like a ghoulish lantern as the bones of her cranium appeared and vanished from view in pulses of blue-white light. Jazz reared up from the floor, pulled his wrist from Shepard's grasp, and wrapped his arm round her shoulders. He threaded his fingers through her locks, cradled her radiant skull in the palm of his hand, and gently turned her face.

Jazz desired to kiss Shepard. He leaned inwards, intent on covering her mouth with his own, until he glimpsed the incandescent circuits interlinked across, over, and through her cranial bones. The urge to plunge his spark into the depths of her cyberised spirit magnified a thousand fold in the revelation of this exquisite part of her psyche. Shepard brazenly returned Jazz's scrutiny, luminescent eye to optic, and she decided to test his resolve. He had kissed her senseless, admitted to being envious of her deceased beloved, and dared to flirt with her despite the gulf of age, species, and her lack of a physical form.

Shepard rhythmically tapped a finger upon Jazz's lip-plates. She considered his metallic face-plate that was smooth, silvered, and shinier than a turian's coarse, rugged, and dull-plated skin. He was larger, heavier, and older than Garrus, but his optics were the same shade of burnished royal blue. Shepard would always struggle to distinguish herself from the heroine who had died to save the galaxy. She was the Reaper Master AI, but also a perfect carbon-copy of Commander Jane Shepard, forever trapped in cyberspace.

"Garrus Vakarian was the love of my life. You can't hope to eclipse him so why bother trying?"

Jazz's hand slid from Shepard's scalp to the nape of her neck. His thumb followed the graceful arc of a circuit woven into the vertebrae of her spinal cord, the hinge of her upper jaw, and the smooth curve of her cheekbone. Jazz intentionally sent a shock of electricity whizzing through those fine blue-white lines knowing Shepard's likely reaction. He was pleased to see her take short, sharp, and shallow breaths. She had an iron-will but he was a patient mech.

"Vakarian was the love of your _organic _life".

Shepard gritted her teeth to stifle a throaty moan. Jazz could see the circuits, interwoven through the bones of her skull, vibrate with ecstasy. The electrical impulses fired up and down, she trembled, and was overcome by the pleasurable stimulation of her holographic nerves. Jazz was a troublesome, playful, and wickedly wily bastard. He had Garrus's cockiness, though Shepard wondered, if he could match her turian sweetheart's courage.

"I'll be the love of your _synthetic _life", pledged the sly saboteur.

Shepard was a ball of irritation in Jazz's lap. She curled a finger into the curve of her thumb and scornfully flicked the tip of his nasal-plate. She glared when he smirked sassily. "I guess my electrifying personality hit all of your sweet-spots". Jazz's spark throbbed under the plates of his chest like a contentedly purring turbo-cat.

Shepard was relaxed, surly, and angry enough to knock his dental-plates down his fuel-intake. Jazz brushed his mouth over her brow and rested his chin atop the crown of her head. He would have savoured the victory of making Shepard forget, however temporarily, about her scaly organic boyfriend if not for an incensed Bumblebee. His scowling apprentice was looming over his shoulder, had raised a hand high, and was ready to cuff him hard about the helm. Jazz was astonished when Shepard's arms wound round his neck and shoulders.

She had tolerated his flirting, let him taste the headiness of her passion, and reciprocated his romantic overtures. The smitten saboteur gasped when Shepard's gauntleted fingers slipped between his shoulder-plates. She was eying Bumblebee, engaging the bot in conversation, and massaging the sensor wires concealed under the silver panels of Jazz's armour. Shepard enjoyed every involuntary twitch, muffled groan, and the hard scraping of heavy cybertronian fingers over her back. Vengeance was a dish best served with a generous helping of distraction, infiltration, and a round of bolt-play.

"Bumblebee, I'm really sorry, but Jazz has forgotten his manners. I don't mind a little flirtation or swapping saliva, but groping my ass with an electrical charge crossed the line. He needs to understand that payback is a glitch".

Shepard sent bolts of electricity spiralling through the network of cybernetic components inside the saboteur's frame. His core temperature was rising with every tug, tweak, and torturously slow squeeze of his sensor-wires. The object of his affections had certainly done her homework. Shepard's efforts were making his spark beat erratically, swell like a balloon under his chest-plates, and rendering his processor delirious with an accumulation of sensory data. Jazz heard her statement, Bumblebee's husky sniggering, and his spark shuddered with embarrassment.

Surely Shepard wouldn't massage his sensor-wires until he overloaded in public. She had served as the Hax-4 mining facility's AI for two vorns. Jazz knew that in those short and eventful years she had seen romance blossoming between members of the cybertronian crew. His people were sensual, sincere, and sensibly open-minded, lacking the inhibitions of their organic brethren in courtship and coitus. Cybertronian society had its own etiquette governing social interactions, though contact of the consensually intimate kind was generally conducted in private.

Jazz blearily looked up into the face-plate of his apprentice, saw Bumblebee's amusement, and realised that he was slagged. The bot didn't feel an astroquart of sympathy for him. He watched Bumblebee raise a hand, extend a finger, and wag it back and forth in front of his nasal-plate disapprovingly. "You should ask before you tickle someone's circuits. Ratchet would dent your helm if he found out you'd been trying to seduce a femme without her permission".

Shepard leaned down to kiss Jazz. His lip-plates were already parted and his glossa was wet and eager. She paused short of kissing him, dragged her mouth over his chin, jaw-strut, and cheek, and continued the teasing torment by nipping an audio sensor. Jazz groaned with dissatisfaction, tried to turn his helm, and earned himself a retaliatory bite on an exposed neck-cable. He vented hard when Shepard whispered seductively.

"Garrus spoilt me rotten. I have incredibly high standards. You'll need more than a handsome face, shiny plates, and a sexy aft to win me over. I prefer quality over quantity. I hope you have a lot of stamina, because, you won't have a hope in hell of satisfying me without it".

Shepard's challenge angered the shrewd bot. Jazz growled in annoyance, scrambled to ensnare her, and found his arms, hands, and fingers closing on empty air. The abrupt loss of Shepard's weight pitched him backward. Jazz's shoulder-plates hit the floor. He cursed when the back of his helm bounced on the metal grates, the crack of steel on steel left his audio sensors ringing.

Bumblebee watched his mentor, flat on his spinal-strut, ventilating streams of hot air. Jazz's mouth was open, the slats of his vents spread wide, and his chest-plates were expanding and contracting as he hastily cycled air to cool down his frame. Shepard was inventive, cruel, and hilariously entertaining in her methods of administering punishment. Bumblebee turned when he saw a series of lights, twinkling like stars, materialise in mid-air. He watched Shepard coalesce from a shimmering fog into her holographic humanoid form.

Shepard's biomechanical traits waned when the luminous circuits enmeshed in the bones of her skull, neck, and spine dimmed like a dying flame. The transparent skin of her face resumed the healthy bronze sheen of a woman who had once walked in the sun. The plates of her armour, mottled in serpentine patterns, solidified in spots of black, highlights of blue, and undertones of dark forest green. Shepard's bright circuits and bones were obscured by her hair, skin, and armour though her eyes retained that eerie blue-white lustre. Bumblebee's spark skittered like a stone across water.

The flustered feelings of infatuation returned. The scout evaded her gaze and was soon subjected to Jazz's glowering optics. The saboteur's playfulness was gone. Shepard had yet to confirm that they were in a relationship. He was determined to give her some serious motivation in the most physical way possible.

Jazz's palms hit the floor, his elbow-joints bent, and his shoulders flexed with the strain. He folded himself in half, brought his leg-struts in tight over his face-plate, and used the coils compressed inside the plates of his arms like a springboard. He threw his legs backward, used their shifting mass as a counterweight for the rest of his frame, and shot upright onto his pedes. Jazz landed steadily, took a running leap, and flipped helm over pedes in a high smooth arc. He landed gracefully behind Shepard.

Jazz grabbed her hips and yanked her backward. Shepard slammed into his chest-plate, grimaced at the impact on her spine, and elbowed him hard in the pelvis. She hated being thrown around like a ragdoll. Jazz winced when she struck a sensitive sensor panel. He endured the eruption of pain surging through his circuits, pulled her into the circle of his arms, and cuddled her tight to his frame.

"_Slaggit_! _You're mine_! _Bee's my autobot-brother but I'm not the kind of mech that likes to share_! _I've got to stake my claim_! _It's a matter of pride_! _He has to understand that you're spoken for_!"

Bumblebee self-consciously prodded a rapidly warming cheek-plate. The bot was doing a terrible job of hiding that fledgling crush. Shepard's eyes rolled exasperatedly. Jazz was a rigid wall of unyielding steel at her back. His arms were bands of iron round her middle, hard, heavy, and confining like the bars of a cage.

Shepard was insulted by the saboteur's possessiveness. She was loyal by nature, but rival males in her experience, tended to snarl like Krogan fighting over a fertile female. She remembered how Garrus had exhibited that maddening behaviour around Kaidan. The turian had made crossing paths with her former lover a constant test of endurance aboard the Normandy SR-2. Shepard refused to be the peacemaker in the middle of another testosterone-laden conflict.

"Damn it. I've had enough of this macho jealousy bullshit. Kaidan and Garrus's interplanetary pissing contest was vicious enough to last one of my lifetimes. I am not spending an eternity playing referee between two giant robots that want their own personalised piece of my holographic ass. Some things never change, but this time around I'm laying down the law".

Shepard decided to nip this problem in the aft. She relaxed into Jazz's embrace, gave him an irritable look, and allowed herself to be snuggled like an overgrown teddy-bear. His delight was sickeningly palpable in the way he smiled, buried his face-plate in the nape of her neck, and vented a relieved sigh. Shepard regarded Bumblebee with the steeliness of a veteran commander used to dealing with rowdy subordinates. She gave the scout a piece of sage advice.

"I'm flattered, but I can only handle one aggravatingly persistent bastard at a time. I already have enough trouble trying to keep Jazz in line whenever he drops in to visit with Perceptor. Be smart Bumblebee, find yourself a nice mech or femme, and settle down with someone that makes you happy. I might seem appealing right now, but that infatuation will wear off fast when you find my boot in your aft. Unless you're a closet xenophile with a penchant for masochism, you'd be better off dating another cybertronian".

Shepard's candour, deadpan humour, and austerity prompted Bumblebee to focus. Her attitude was evocative of the frank, pragmatic, and steadfast Ironhide whose demise by the hand of Sentinel Prime, six vorns ago, had left a void in the Autobot ranks. The weapons specialist, an expert in his field, had been irreplaceable. Bumblebee sank onto the grated metal floor, folded his leg-struts underneath his frame, and turned his attention to Jazz. He saw how the older bot clung to Shepard like a lifeline.

His mentor was calm, quiet, and comfortable in her presence. Bumblebee's optics shuttered when Jazz's fingers grazed over the curve of Shepard's hip. He couldn't bear to watch the bot's palm settle over the flat holographic plates of her armoured belly. Bumblebee distracted himself by contemplating what he'd learnt, observed, and heard in the past joor. Shepard was the AI designated J4N3 in disguise, in charge of managing the mining facility's automated operations, and capable of flawlessly integrating herself into a cybertronian computer network.

The cogs turned in Bumblebee's helm, his processor assessed hypothesis after hypothesis, as he drew on the excess of raw data accumulated in the past ten orns. He pondered the availability of the 245e Solar Edition of Fornax, the information contained within its virtual pages, and Jazz's insistence that he join the team returning to the mining facility. The convenience of their arrival, taken during a decaorn designated for the mining crew to take their shore-leave, had guaranteed minimal interference. Perceptor had played his part by distracting Joule while Jazz had initiated their reconnaissance mission, the goal, to investigate the alien ship buried deep inside the mine. The assistance provided by an easily flattered J4N3, the mining facility's immature femme AI, had made gathering intelligence all too easy.


	6. Her Merry Band of Helpers

**Aftermath **

_**By Pyreite**_

**Fandom:** AU – Mass Effect x Bayverse Transformers Movies

**Rating:** M – Contains _Mature_ themes

**Setting:** Set _seven hundred years_ after Darkside of the Moon and _four hundred years_ after Mass Effect 3 – Control ending. Takes place in the same universe as oneshot _Baby-bots, Spark-Attacks, and Cuddle-Buddies_.

**Synopsis:**Jazz brings Bumblebee on a mission to a remote energon mining facility in deep-space to investigate Perceptor's unusual scientific discovery, a Reaper dreadnought, slumbering in the tunnels underneath the mine. The mine's AI, J4N3, a close friend of Jazz, unknowingly inherited the gift preserved inside the genetic code of the first human ally of the Autobot's, Samuel Witwicky.

A gift that like Pandora's Box, once opened could save or destroy the last surviving scions of Primus's legacy, Optimus Prime, the Autobots, and the remnants of the Decepticon forces.

**Starring:** Jazz, Bumblebee, Perceptor, a reaperised Commander Jane Shepard, a moody miner-bot, some old Autobot friends, and several hundred miniaturised insecticons.

**Warnings:** _This story contains a xenophile romance between an AI and an Autobot, some cuddling, spontaneous kissing, references to interfacing equipment, budding sparklings, Fornax, Shepard's oddity of attracting suitors among aliens species, and coarse language, especially, cybertronian curse words, like frag, slag, and glitch. Discretion is advised. _

_**Chapter 6: Her Merry Band of Helpers**_

_**From last time:**_

_The cogs turned in Bumblebee's helm, his processor assessed hypothesis after hypothesis, as he drew on the excess of raw data accumulated in the past ten orns. He pondered the availability of the 245e Solar Edition of Fornax, the information contained within its virtual pages, and Jazz's insistence that he join the team returning to the mining facility. The convenience of their arrival, taken during a decaorn designated for the mining crew to take their shore-leave, had guaranteed minimal interference. Perceptor had played his part by distracting Joule while Jazz had initiated their reconnaissance mission, the goal, to investigate the alien ship buried deep inside the mine. The assistance provided by an easily flattered J4N3, the mining facility's immature femme AI, had made gathering intelligence all too easy._

Shepard huffed indignantly when Jazz fondly squeezed her middle. She saw the stiffness in his posture, the tightness in his face-plate, and felt the tremor in his frame. She hesitated to pry his fingers from her armoured abdomen, recalled how she'd elbowed the poor bot, and looked down to the plate bisecting his pelvis. Shepard intuitively understood the problem. Cybertronian interfacing equipment, similar to turian anatomy, was safeguarded internally.

Jazz wouldn't have felt a thing under ordinary circumstances. Shepard guiltily bit her lip when she saw the scorch mark on the plate of reinforced steel. The housing of Jazz's interface panel was steaming from a recent electrical burn. Shepard did have an unconscious tendency to expend her frustration through the spontaneous release of excess charge. She'd forgotten that some cybertronian metals, while hardwearing, could still conduct heat and electricity.

Shepard had been more irritated in the past half-joor than she had in the two vorns of serving as Joule's virtual drudge. The period of service, willingly assumed, had given her the unique opportunity to observe autonomous robotic lifeforms in a controlled environment. The experiment, overseen by Perceptor, had proven insightful. Jazz was the one factor compromising Shepard's usually prudent judgement. She slowly turned round, careful not to jolt the injured bot, and utilised the command centre's array of internal sensors to initiate a routine full-frame scan.

Bumblebee heard the hiss of hydraulics, opened his optics, and saw a series of overlapping metal slats recede into the ceiling. He was startled when an unfamiliar, medical-grade apparatus, descended in a slow circular rotation. The scanning rod, a thin cylindrical bar, split into three sizable pieces. Bumblebee stared when the segments of metal, each as large as his fist, dropped like stones. The whirr of pistons, the smooth transition of shifting plates, and he saw three pairs of beady optics, segmented legs, and slender gossamer wings.

The miniaturised insecticons fluttered like butterflies around Shepard. Jazz opened his mouth to ask a question. He stilled when a gentle gauntleted finger pressed against his lip-plates. Shepard's usually sombre face softened with concern. "I'm sorry for hurting you. I'm going to check the extent of the damage. It'll be a cursory medical scan, nothing invasive, just a quick, clean, and concise inspection of your frame".

Jazz was intrigued by the lively bots flitting about Shepard. He nodded, mistaking the trio for drones, until they converged on him. He recognised the triangulated sweep pattern common to aerial surveillance units. Jazz was immediately engulfed in a triple-fold layer of blue-white light, indicative of a scan in progress, as the tiny transformers flew around him in a tight circle. He marvelled when the little bugs conversed in twittering clicks.

The language was a mixture of high chirps, low trills, and a continuous stream of melodious warbling. Jazz was enchanted by the odd musical quality of their communication. The trio of tiny bots had their own distinct individual voice that interwove in a calming three-part harmony. His audio sensors buzzed with vibrations that relaxed taut cables, alleviated pressure in his plates, and like a balm dulled the discomfort caused by Shepard's discharge of surplus electricity. Bumblebee gawked when his mentor stumbled, hummed contentedly, and fell into a pair of supportive holographic arms.

"Take it easy. You'll be a little unsteady after listening to Ram, Rom, and Bitlet sing down the pain", warned Shepard. She drew Jazz's arm across her shoulders and guided him towards a seat beside the holo-table. She urged him to sit down, flapped her hands to discourage the three small insecticons from alighting on his helm, and offered herself as a makeshift perch instead. Jazz laughed when the fascinating little bots chirruped a chorus of enthusiasm. The excitable trio darted around Shepard in a giddy circle, their beating wings slowed, and in several graceful loops they flew in to land.

The saboteur was enthralled when the trio of insecticons, no larger than his hand, fanned their filmy wings. The robotic bugs crept across Shepard's shoulders, chattering to one another in their whimsical language of sweet bell-like peals, which was pleasant to his audio sensors. Jazz watched how they snuck under the shroud of her hair, settled into the armoured collar of her breastplate, and rubbed their tiny plated bodies against her neck, cheek, and jaw. Shepard stroked chromed carapaces, silver wings, and long metal antennae. She was quiet for several kliks, listening to her merry band of helpers, while Bumblebee slunk closer.

The sunshine yellow autobot rolled onto his knees, peered over the dip of Shepard's elbow, and studied the miniature insecticon crawling down her upper-arm. He was alarmed when the little bot halted its descent, flicked its sheer silver wings, and extended a pair of slender antenna. Bumblebee froze when the planes of his face-plate were repetitively tapped, prodded, and memorised. The insecticon explored the broad sweep of his jaw, the bridge of his nasal-plate, and the round sockets of his optical ridges. He was surprised when the little bot sang a high-sweet note once, twice, and thrice more while tapping an antenna upon the plates of his helm.

The only experience Bumblebee had with insecticons was when he'd blasted the larger, more dangerous, and deadly Decepticon variety out of the sky. He was puzzled by the behaviour of this smaller and less intimidating cousin. The little bug-bot withdrew its antenna much to Bumblebee's confusion. The insecticon cheeped disappointedly, dug tiny metal claws into the seams of Shepard's armour, and carefully navigated its way around and under her elbow. Air rasped in and out of Bumblebee's vents when the tiny bot reappeared, presented its striped abdomen, glossy wings and bands of spark-warming yellow and black.

Jazz grinned when his apprentice's vocaliser bubbled with laughter. His optics glowed jauntily. He had a fair idea of what the little bug-bot had been trying to tell Bumblebee. Jazz looked to Shepard, chuckled at the amused expression on her face, and made an inquiry into the state of his health. "I'd appreciate knowing the verdict. Should I be worried about impaired performance, a nasty case of spike-itch, or scheduling an emergency appointment with Ratchet?"

Shepard appraised Jazz from the chin-plate down. She enjoyed the sight of his aerodynamic frame, trim waist, and strong hips. She was glad that there was no permanent damage. "Ram, Rom, and Bitlet are fairly certain that you'll live to laugh and love another orn. Your self-repair systems should erase the scorch-mark, desensitize your internal wiring, and revitalise your interface equipment to peak performance in a few joors. Just don't overexert yourself".

Bumblebee was charmed when Bitlet buzzed angrily. The insecticon, the smallest of his brothers, swarmed up Shepard's arm. He brought up the rear, reuniting with Ram and Rom sitting on their mistress's shoulders, and took up his post on the crown of her head. Bumblebee leaned on the rim of the holo-table, tucked a fist under his cheek-plate, and observed the wild gesticulations of the newly nicknamed '_Bee-bots_'. Little Bitlet, rotund Rom, and sleek Ram waggled their striped plated bodies in a complicated dance.

Jazz was more entertained than offended when the bee-bots flexed their wing-struts, turned one hundred and eighty degrees, and hostilely displayed their razor-sharp stingers. He applauded gleefully. "Your little guardians have got some smooth moves my, Queen Bee, but, I don't think they approve of you talking about my bits and bolts". Jazz snickered when Shepard casually shrugged her shoulders, unsettling Ram and Rom, who protested with a roar of thunderous droning. She endured their chastising with an indulgent smile.

"You brought up impotence and spike-itch. I kept the medical assessment purely clinical without being vulgar. You have the filthy mind not me".

Bumblebee rapped his knuckles on the holo-table. He waved cordially when Jazz's vocaliser sputtered with static. Shepard laughed, fished Bitlet out of her hair before the little bot could make a nest, and resumed her seat atop the holo-table. Bumblebee looked away when her knees bent, legs folded, and she sat once again comfortably cross-legged. She could make the simplest action appear gratuitously lascivious.

Shepard petted Bitlet into a quivering heap of relaxation. Ram and Rom busily groomed her hair, alternating between themselves for the choicest roosting spots around the nape of her neck, collarbone, and shoulders. Bumblebee's bashfulness had returned. He was twiddling his thumbs, pretending to ignore her, and trying to focus on anything marginally more interesting than her holographic hips and thighs. Shepard's head turned, she saw Jazz's grumpy face-plate, and sighed wearily.

Bumblebee's unexpected crush complicated their inter-species liaison. The saboteur's usually upbeat mood had soured considerably in less than half-a-klik. Competition did strange things to the cybertronian mind. Shepard settled a dozing Bitlet into her lap, reached for Jazz, and gently cupped his jaw. She tilted his face-plate upward until their gazes met, eye to optic, and told him what he needed to hear.

"You can stop acting like a territorial jackass. I meant what I said. I can only handle _one_ aggravatingly persistent bastard at a time. I'm tired of being sad and lonely Jazz, so I'm finally ready to take the next step in our relationship. I'll always love Garrus, but if I'm going to have a future than I can't keep dwelling on the past".

Shepard stroked the plates of Jazz's cheek. She smiled when smooth, firm, and wonderfully warm metal pressed against her chin, nose, and forehead. The gesture, once shared with a coarse-plated turian, was heart-breaking. Shepard's courage wavered, dread crept in, and bitterness seeped through the cracks in her confidence. Her posture, taut like a coiled spring, mirrored the aggressiveness of a cornered turbo-wolf.

Shepard was unaccustomed to fleeing from her fears. Her fingers clamped to Jazz's helm with the surety, strength, and staunchness of a woman dedicated to her purpose. Her lustrous blue-white eyes, an expression of the Reaper at the nucleus of her awareness, darkened with despair. Shepard would always be inflexible when it came to matters of the heart. She spoke like a Prime who had sacrificed mind, frame, and spark to save trillions of lives at the expense of her own.

"I'm sorry but it'll be difficult for me to stop fretting over my mistakes. I keep wishing that I could make everything that I did wrong right again. I know that it won't change a damned thing, but I can't help thinking that I could have done so much more. I guess I have one hell of a Heroine Complex. I couldn't save the galaxy quite right the first time so I'm planning my next heroic feat with a lot less funerals and a lot more happy reunions".

Jazz yearned to comfort Shepard but only she had the power to let her demons die. He could not liberate her from the burdens of the past but he could give her hope. "I'll make every new orn the better for the both of us sweetspark. You're not alone anymore. I'm here and right now I bet you'd enjoy a little bit of you, me, and a cycle of making slow sweet _Mmmph_".

Shepard kissed the perverted saboteur silent. She breathlessly pulled away from him when a furious Ram nipped her earlobe. The bee-bot buzzed indignantly, spurring Rom to squawk a staccato of shrill whistles, and inciting Bitlet to groggily chirrup a round of protesting squeaks. Jazz gaped incredulously when the trio of bee-bots launched themselves into the air, flew in a tight V-formation, and swooped down to strafe him with blue fireballs. Bumblebee's helm whirled at the sound of aerial bombardment, Shepard's frantic cursing, and his mentor's feverish fumbling to activate his shield.

He couldn't believe what he was witnessing. The little bee-bots were dive-bombing Jazz, pelting him with blue blasts that exploded on impact, and forcing him to take cover under a large concave metal shield. Shepard was dancing around the autobot's seat trying to snatch Ram from the air. The sleekest, fastest, and most aggressive bee-bot led the V-formation. He was busily directing his brothers, mid-air, to weave in and out of their Queen's wildly waving hands.

"_Ram!_ _ You little brat_! _Mommy said to leave Jazz alone_! _Fraggit! Get back here_!"

Bumblebee gawped like a stunned pyjak. He was looking left to right trying to keep the action in his line of sight. He couldn't just blow Ram, Rom, and little Bitlet out of the air. They shared the unique black and yellow kinship of Beehive brotherhood. Bumblebee's spark was torn between loyalty to Jazz, fluttery feelings for Shepard, and respect for the bee-bots' graceful aerial manoeuvres.

He watched Ram lead his brothers. The little bots were effortlessly flying barrel rolls, corkscrew dives, and spiralling loops to escape Shepard's grasping fingers. Ram, Rom, and Bitlet's flight patterns were too shrewd, fluid, and instinctive to be automated. Bumblebee's processor reeled with epiphanic certainty. He wasn't the only autobot confounded by the hologram's unwitting admission.

Jazz sheltered under the protective rim of his shield. The circular piece of metal, drawn down tight over his helm, provided cover from the worst of Ram, Rom, and Bitlet's overzealous onslaught. The tiny charges, bright like shooting stars, left smoking craters. Bumblebee saw his mentor mouth the human equivalent of the cybertronian term for the _Carrier _of an infant spark. Shepard had blurted the word in a rush, too preoccupied with protecting Jazz, to mentally register the slip of her own tongue.

She finally apprehended Ram after a clever feint, caged him between her gauntleted hands, and ordered his disobedient brothers to cease their aerial strike. "_Stand down_!" Rom and Bitlet hastily soared up and over their Queen's crown to avoid colliding with the trapped Ram. The leader of the insecticon band buzzed resentfully and naughtily nipped Shepard's armoured fingers. She responded with a gruff scolding when the little bot screeched a sequence of admonishing clicks.

"_I can kiss whomever I damned well want too_! _You don't have to approve_!"

Ram's antenna quivered agitatedly, his optics flashed in fury, and his wings vibrated against the black and yellow plates of his abdomen. Shepard snarled when he dared to dispute her claim with a discordant squeal. "_The Hive doesn't get to decide who I can and cannot kiss_!_ Jazz does not have to ask for their permission_!" She scowled when Rom and Bitlet zoomed over her shoulder, rocketed upwards to hover in front of her face, and echoed Ram's complaints with a cacophony of piercing whistles. The bee-bots' were no longer focused on continuing their assault.


	7. To Play Mind Games

**Aftermath **

_**By Pyreite**_

**Fandom:** AU – Mass Effect x Bayverse Transformers Movies

**Rating:** M – Contains _Mature_ themes

**Setting:** Set _seven hundred years_ after Darkside of the Moon and _four hundred years_ after Mass Effect 3 – Control ending. Takes place in the same universe as oneshot _Baby-bots, Spark-Attacks, and Cuddle-Buddies_.

**Synopsis:**Jazz brings Bumblebee on a mission to a remote energon mining facility in deep-space to investigate Perceptor's unusual scientific discovery, a Reaper dreadnought, slumbering in the tunnels underneath the mine. The mine's AI, J4N3, a close friend of Jazz, unknowingly inherited the gift preserved inside the genetic code of the first human ally of the Autobot's, Samuel Witwicky.

A gift that like Pandora's Box, once opened could save or destroy the last surviving scions of Primus's legacy, Optimus Prime, the Autobots, and the remnants of the Decepticon forces.

**Starring:** Jazz, Bumblebee, Perceptor, a reaperised Commander Jane Shepard, a moody miner-bot, some old Autobot friends, and several hundred miniaturised insecticons.

**Warnings:** _This story contains a xenophile romance between an AI and an Autobot, some cuddling, spontaneous kissing, references to interfacing equipment, budding sparklings, Fornax, Shepard's oddity of attracting suitors among aliens species, and coarse language, especially, cybertronian curse words, like frag, slag, and glitch. Discretion is advised. _

_**Chapter 7: To Play Mind-Games**_

_**From last time:**_

_Ram's antenna quivered agitatedly, his optics flashed in fury, and his wings vibrated against the black and yellow plates of his abdomen. Shepard snarled when he dared to dispute her claim with a discordant squeal. "The Hive doesn't get to decide who I can and cannot kiss! Jazz does not have to ask for their permission!" She scowled when Rom and Bitlet zoomed over her shoulder, rocketed upwards to hover in front of her face, and echoed Ram's complaints with a cacophony of piercing whistles. The bee-bots' were no longer focused on continuing their assault._

The lull in the battle gave Jazz an opportunity to assess the field. Rom and Bitlet had veered off-course. The duo had joined their brother to argue with Shepard. The bee-bots' were too engrossed to notice that their target had lowered his blackened, dented, and smoking shield. Jazz brushed flakes of scorched metal from his helm, arms, and shoulders. He cracked the vertebrae in his spinal-strut, stretched stiff cables, and rotated strained joints when Shepard's patience snapped like an elastic band.

"_He'd have to do a hell of a lot more than kiss me to bud a sparkling Ram_! _It's not even possible anyway! In case you've forgotten_! _I don't have the prerequisite equipment on hand to be impregnated_! _I'd need a frame, a spark, and a carrying chamber in-built to have the slightest chance of bearing a sparkling to term_!"

Jazz toppled out of his seat. His chair overturned, he hit the grated metal floor with a curse, and whacked his helm on the rim of his battered shield. He lay there staring at the fluorescent lights embedded in the command centre's ceiling. He was too bewildered to mentally process Shepard's exclamation. "_Jazz_! _Slaggit_! _Shut up Ram_! _Bumblebee! Stop looking at me like that and get off your aft_! _If you hesitate to help me I will jettison your frame out of the nearest airlock_!"

The saboteur's optical field of vision was filled with concerned blue eyes, an anxious feminine face, and a pair of gentle gauntleted hands. Shepard smiled ruefully. "I'm sorry for my boys blasting the slag out of you. Your shield took the brunt of their attack. You look a little frazzled but I'm sure that you'll be fine". Bumblebee appeared a klik later, helm shaking, and optics narrow blue pinpricks of light. His face-plate was tight with worry.

"You okay?"

Jazz nodded dazedly. He saw a blur of gold in the air above him, heard the familiar droning of irritable bee-bots, and immediately tensed. He was exposed, vulnerable, and well within firing range of their miniaturised energy cannons. "It's all right. They won't attack you anymore. Ram, Rom, and Bitlet know that their Mommy is_ very_ fragged off". Shepard relented when the smallest bee-bot landed on her back, scurried along the speckled ridge of her shoulder, and took refuge in the holographic collar of her breastplate.

Bitlet buzzed apologetically, rubbed his helm on her cheek, and pleaded for forgiveness. His distressed twittering tugged at Jazz's spark. Shepard was surprised when silver cybertronian fingers stroked the underside of Bitlet's shivering thoracic-plates. "Hush now. It's all right. You and your brothers were just defending your Creator. I understand the feeling of wanting to protect someone precious too. I'm not mad Bitlet, but, I am curious about how your Creator managed to spark your frame". Jazz was entirely too perceptive.

Shepard paused when those same nimble fingers ghosted over her cheek. She spied Bumblebee across the space between them, saw his expression, and knew that he wanted an answer too. Shepard looked down. The same anguish mingled with hope was reflected on Jazz's face-plate. She didn't have the heart to deceive either autobot when no new sparklings had been born in thousands of vorns.

"Give me a little time. I'll explain everything. Right now I need to reassure my boys".

Shepard tenderly petted the ridge of metal between Bitlet's multi-faceted optics. He whimpered like a timid turbo-puppy, curled round her hand, and clicked sorrowfully. "Shush sweetheart. I forgive you and your brothers for being protective, but, opening a can of whip-aft on Jazz was going too far". Shepard frowned when Ram pounced on the saboteur's hand, buzzed warningly, and scuttled up and down his wrist flaunting a serrated steel stinger. The hostile bee-bot didn't once stop to sink the barb, slick with cyber-venom, between the gaps in his plates.

"Message received loud and clear", declared Jazz. He smirked when Ram trilled imperiously. The arrogant little bee-bot, using his forearm like a walkway, strode back to Shepard. Ram chittered to his mistress, proudly waggled his bright yellow and black abdomen, and flicked his gauzy silver wings. Jazz withdrew his hand when Ram was safely deposited on her cheek.

Shepard had a ridiculously large bug-bot perching on her face. Jazz resisted the urge to laugh but Bumblebee wasn't so courteous. His rusty chortles earned him a stinging slap. He yelped, gingerly prodded his smarting cheek-plate, and gave the hologram a dirty look. Shepard pursed her lips, poked her tongue out, and blew the offended bot a wet raspberry.

"Suck it up. You're made of metal. I couldn't dent your face-plate if I wanted too. I'm a holographic projection not a bulldozer".

Shepard petted Ram's spiny legs to coax him to climb down to her shoulder. The bee-bot warbled huffily. His mood improved when Shepard plucked him from her face, cupped her hands round his striped body, and pressed a kiss between his twinkling optics. "Thank you for watching out for me, but I can take care of my own love-life. However, I concede the point Ram. I should have discussed my courtship of a new spark-mate with the Hive _before_ I dared to dive tongue first into his mouth-plates".

Shepard rolled her eyes when Ram tweeted that she was the heart of the Hive, their mother, and Queen. She blushed when he emphasized, with a sagacious whistle, that it was Jazz's responsibility as her suitor to seek the Hive's consent before engaging in a courtship dance. Ram chirped that Jazz was a rude, crude, and uncivilised scoundrel for neglecting their traditions. The bot was obviously too ignorant of bee-bot etiquette to be allowed to court their Queen and therefore unworthy of the role and title of being her Royal Consort. Shepard was flustered when she resettled Ram upon her shoulder, where the relieved Bitlet chirped a happy welcome, and Rom buzzed in praise of his wisdom.

Her hands slid under the saboteur's elbows. Shepard kept her eyes on Bumblebee, nodded once, and chose to ignore the heat in her cheeks. Her countenance, a holographic portrayal of her once human features, would always be more expressive than a cybertronian face-plate. Shepard hated how she could still turn red when embarrassed. The Reaperisation of her persona had been too inconveniently thorough.

"Let's get Jazz up off the floor".

Bumblebee slipped under Jazz's arm, bore the burden of his weight, and helped Shepard guide him to stand. She was an enigma of humanisms, technological mysteries, and bizarre aspirations fused into one disturbingly enticing package. Bumblebee saw how his mentor's optics never once strayed from the object of his affections. Jazz's concentration was solely centred on Shepard, her brood of bee-bots, and the rosy flush in her face. Bumblebee wondered if his mentor was genuinely fond of her, or, if his spark-felt responses were the result of subliminal reprogramming.

He steadied Jazz while Shepard set the fallen chair upright again. He eased the bot down to sit, regarded her cagily, and stepped between them. Bumblebee considered if what he'd gleaned from the virtual pages of the 245e Solar Edition of Fornax was true. He was prepared to risk his health, safety, and sanity to confront Shepard. He was sure that the subject would be controversial.

Shepard was suspicious the instant Bumblebee herded her away from Jazz. She reluctantly gave ground when the burly scout, a full head and a half taller in height, used his greater bulk to keep her at bay. She rounded on him with a sense of unease. "What's going on here?" Shepard tried to evade Bumblebee but he instantly moved into her path, shook his helm, and spread his arms wide to prevent her from reuniting with Jazz.

"There is something I have to discuss with you".

Shepard eyed him warily. "Discuss or interrogate? You look ready to clap me in cuffs, tie me to a chair, and shine a spotlight in my face". She frowned when Bumblebee's optics gleamed a shade of steely grey-blue. Shepard could see that he was mistrustful of her intentions toward Jazz. She backed up a step, gave him space to breathe, and gestured for him to state the terms of engagement.

"Fine, you want to talk, than I'm listening".

Bumblebee broached the subject with the subtlety of a rampaging dinobot.

"You've supposedly spent the past two vorns masquerading as the mining facility's AI designated J4N3. You could have indoctrinated Joule, the crew, and every bot that's come into contact with you, your alter ego, and your Reaper ship. Perceptor, Jazz, and I would already be compromised. We'd never know for certain of course, unless, you issued an order that we couldn't refuse. If indoctrination is the subversion of our freewill, than, we would be loyal to you and not Optimus Prime".

Shepard's eyes smouldered like fiery blue coals; she whirled, and roared at the suspicious scout. "_You bucket of bolts_! _I haven't once tried to indoctrinate anyone since I became the Reaper Master AI_! _I am not that bastard Harbinger_!" Shepard eluded Jazz's grasping hands when he tried to reach for her. "_Don't touch me_!" She retreated to the far side of the command centre, paced agitatedly, and snapped at Bumblebee.

"_I don't understand most of my Reaper runtimes_! _My personality matrices are laced with unfamiliar variables, caches of encrypted data, and trillions of subroutines_! _I'm the holographic equivalent of an encyclopaedia that's a billion years old_!" Bumblebee heard Jazz gasp, saw him twist in his seat, and watched his helm follow Shepard back and forth as she marched restlessly. She was outraged by the vile accusation that she'd used her position as the mining facility's AI to play mind-games with Joule, the crew, Perceptor, and Jazz.

"_Every fifty thousand years the Reapers would seek to indoctrinate, decimate, and harvest entire civilisations for preservation inside their vast neural-networks_! _They sought to destroy Earth, my people, and everyone I loved in the year 2186_! _I took control of the things that I hated the most to protect everything that I held dear_! _I forced the Reapers to abandon the Cycle, repair the damage they'd done to hundreds of worlds, and sent them to patrol the civilisations that they tried to eradicate_! _I have spent the past four vorns trying to find an alternate solution to the Reapers' prime directive of liquidating every species technologically advanced enough to achieve spaceflight_!"

Silence descended in the aftermath of Shepard's enraged outbursts. Bumblebee's allegation had stirred up old memories, deep-rooted doubts, and past regrets. Shepard turned her back on him, concealed her grief-stricken face, and stared into the unlit corridor leading out of the command centre. Her voice was impassive as she thought of the event that had made her a willing martyr. "I died to ensure that future generations wouldn't share the fate of our predecessors, the Protheans, a space-faring species slaughtered in the Reaper Cycle preceding the scourge of 2186. I did everything possible to protect everyone that I loved. The final sacrifice cost me my life, my body, and soul".

Shepard cursed her Reaperised consciousness when pressure built in the corners of her eyes. She fought to supress the flood of misery that swelled in the centre of her being. She remembered the faces of the family and friends that she'd loved, lost, and left behind. Shepard drooped like a weeping willow. Her spine bent, her shoulders sagged, and her usually high and confident head bowed despondently.

Bumblebee heard her panting breaths, miserable sobs, and could imagine the raining tears. He was quiet when Shepard described her greatest sorrow. "The hardest thing about being the Reaper Master AI isn't the long life, the absence of death, or never having to grow old. I can't forget the past. My memories of lying in bed with Garrus, hearing his heartbeat under my ear, and feeling his weight and warmth beside me are preserved with perfect clarity".

Shepard wilted against the command centre's doorway, felt the bolts and rivets dig into her cheek, and relished the discomforting bite of icy metal. "After 2186 I volunteered the Reaper fleet as the galactic clean-up crew. We repaired the Mass Relays, guarded the interplanetary highways that facilitated FTL travel, and restored several hundred homeworlds and colonies to habitable condition. The survivors of the Reaper War and their descendants still venerate me as _The Shepard_ as if I'm an avenging angel or, some kind of warrior goddess".

Shepard recalled the many people that had served with her aboard the Normandy SR-1 and its successor the Normandy SR-2. "I was just a soldier, not a genius like Mordin, or an engineering mastermind like Tali. I wasn't even the best marksman, pilot, or strategist. Garrus could outshoot me, Joker could outfly me, and Liara could outthink me. My crew, my friends, and family should be revered because I was nothing without them". Shepard's voice broke, her eyes closed, and she mourned her losses for the first time in four hundred years.

Jazz shot out of his seat, teetered on his pedes, and latched onto Bumblebee's arm. His clawed fingertips scratched the sunshine yellow plates. His face-plate twisted in agony at every hitched breath, muffled cry, and nasally sniffle. Jazz was determined to ease Shepard's sorrows. He sighed when Bumblebee whispered an anxious question, was grateful for the bot's concern, but there was neither danger nor deception present in Joule's mining operation.

"How can I be sure that you're not her thrall?"

Jazz patted his apprentice on the shoulder, smiled sympathetically, and stepped round him. "Oh I am _enthralled_ but it's not through some kind of processor-scrubbing nonsense. I've fallen helm over pedes for the most stubborn femme in the universe. It's called _love _Bee. You'll understand too someday".

Jazz left the stupefied bot behind. He took a fortifying breath, crossed the command centre, and approached Shepard. He'd spent two vorns courting the obstinate AI, finally gained a foothold on the elusive ladder to her heart, and refused to relinquish that hard-won ground. Jazz studied the bee-bots standing guard upon her shoulders. Ram, Rom, and Bitlet appeared unusually placid until he heard their soothing three-part descant.

The trio of bee-bots crooned to Shepard, imparting their love in a composition of sound that few throats organic and mechanical, could hope to replicate. The melody sent a wave of raw visceral gratitude through Jazz's spark. He rocked on his pedes, calibrated his vocaliser, and added a fourth low, husky, and resonant hum to the harmony. Jazz smiled when Ram spun round, crawled down the nape of Shepard's neck, and inspected him curiously. The sprightly little bug-bot trilled several notes.

Jazz sang back in tune, pitch-perfect tone, and tempo. His musical aptitude, honed over thousands of vorns, was being exercised in the most extraordinary manner. The three-part solo became a quartet of intermingled voices singing a wordless song full of acceptance, reassurance, and devotion. Shepard was reminded of Garrus's resonant turian flanging, the tears overflowed, and she trembled when loving arms slid round her waist. Jazz waited patiently while Ram extended a pair of silver antennae.

He sang with the trio of bee-bots as his face-plate was cautiously explored. The exercise, a repeat of Bumblebee's experience with Bitlet, concluded without fuss, fire, or the commencement of an aerial attack. Ram seemed to understand that Jazz wanted to console Shepard. The saboteur was astonished when a pair of spiny forelegs was set upon his cheek. He felt the sting of tiny pedes magnetising to the metal of his face-plate, exhaled shakily through his vents, and waited while Ram clambered upward.

The bee-bot climbed over Jazz's optics. Ram settled atop his helm granting a rare reprieve from guarding the Hive's resident Queen. Shepard needed comforting in a way that the bee-bots could not wholly satisfy. Ram used the tips of his long antennae to rhythmically tap the plates of Jazz's crown. The saboteur grinned when he recognised the missive communicated in Morse code.

_Help our Queen_.


	8. Safety, Shelter, and Comfort

**Aftermath **

_**By Pyreite**_

**Fandom:** AU – Mass Effect x Bayverse Transformers Movies

**Rating:** M – Contains _Mature_ themes

**Setting:** Set _seven hundred years_ after Darkside of the Moon and _four hundred years_ after Mass Effect 3 – Control ending. Takes place in the same universe as oneshot _Baby-bots, Spark-Attacks, and Cuddle-Buddies_.

**Synopsis:**Jazz brings Bumblebee on a mission to a remote energon mining facility in deep-space to investigate Perceptor's unusual scientific discovery, a Reaper dreadnought, slumbering in the tunnels underneath the mine. The mine's AI, J4N3, a close friend of Jazz, unknowingly inherited the gift preserved inside the genetic code of the first human ally of the Autobot's, Samuel Witwicky.

A gift that like Pandora's Box, once opened could save or destroy the last surviving scions of Primus's legacy, Optimus Prime, the Autobots, and the remnants of the Decepticon forces.

**Starring:** Jazz, Bumblebee, Perceptor, a reaperised Commander Jane Shepard, a moody miner-bot, some old Autobot friends, and several hundred miniaturised insecticons.

**Warnings:** _This story contains a xenophile romance between an AI and an Autobot, some cuddling, spontaneous kissing, references to interfacing equipment, budding sparklings, Fornax, Shepard's oddity of attracting suitors among aliens species, and coarse language, especially, cybertronian curse words, like frag, slag, and glitch. Discretion is advised. _

_**Chapter 8: Safety, Shelter, and Comfort**_

_**From last time:**_

_The bee-bot climbed over Jazz's optics. Ram settled atop his helm granting a rare reprieve from guarding the Hive's resident Queen. Shepard needed comforting in a way that the bee-bots could not wholly satisfy. Ram used the tips of his long antennae to rhythmically tap the plates of Jazz's crown. The saboteur grinned when he recognised the missive communicated in Morse code._

_Help our Queen._

Jazz nestled against Shepard's back, hummed into her ear, and swayed on his pedes. The gentle rocking motion lulled the distressed AI. Jazz loosened an arm, skimmed a hand across her belly, and grasped her fingers. He tugged insistently until Shepard's resistance crumbled. She reluctantly turned around.

Jazz saw her glistening face, dark stormy eyes, and felt the sadness she exuded like an iron-grey raincloud. He squeezed Shepard's hand before gliding his palm over her elbow. She shied warily and tried to pull away when his fingers drifted up her forearm. Jazz leaned inward before Shepard could vanish into thin air, a classic method of escape, exclusive to a hologram. She stiffened when his brow, nasal-plate, and chin met hers in the gesture of turian intimacy reserved for family, lovers, and the dearest of friends.

Jazz slid his hand round her shoulder. He sang with Ram, Rom, and Bitlet, coaxed Shepard into a slow swaying dance, and slithered his fingers down to the small of her back. Her composure shattered when they revolved in a leisurely circle. Jazz stroked up and down her spine, hummed fondly, and offered Shepard the safety, shelter, and comfort of his spark and frame. He endured the desperate clawing when she anchored herself to him as if she were drowning in rough seas.

The tremors of grief, repressed for far too long, wracked Shepard from head to toe. She shook like a leaf, sobbed herself hoarse, and clung to the only confidante she had outside of the Hive. Jazz led her with the skill of an expert dancer. Shepard was twirled, rocked, and dipped at an unhurried pace. The serenade, trilled, warbled, and hummed by her brood of bee-bots and suitor, bewitched an audience comprised of a remorseful Bumblebee, a drowsy scientist, and a peeved miner.

Shepard's vehement hollering had roused an exhausted couple from recharge. Perceptor politely closed a hand over his mouth-plates, yawned into his palm, and tried to focus his bleary optics. He huddled with his paramour, a livid Joule, who was glaring at Bumblebee. The scout wisely gave the cranky administrator a wide berth, but unwisely turned his back upon her. Joule had a reputation for denting, scrapping, and smelting any glitch foolish enough to upset the delicate balance of hierarchy, infrastructure, and protocol governing the Hax-4 mining operation.

Bumblebee had three strikes against him already. Joule had inherited the talent, testiness, and volatility of her Creators, a pair of spark-mated engineers, with a penchant for destruction. She had many of her Creators' predilections too. Joule hated to be disturbed during a post-coital nap, detested outsiders meddling in her workspace, and harboured a strong dislike for uppity youngsters like Bumblebee.

Perceptor was jostled when his annoyed berth-mate jerked her shoulder. He groaned in displeasure, tried to lay his helm down again, and abruptly found his optical field of vision blacked out. The blurry blob of Joule's palm, spread over his face-plate, concealed the shiny aft of her target from sight. Perceptor was slovenly when sleepy, preferring to snuggle after a vigorous round of interfacing, than in keeping his hands to himself. Joule initiated a transformation sequence in a click, whirr, and clank of shifting plates.

She was a miner by profession but an engineer by trade. Joule had designed, built, and installed an arsenal of turrets, cannons, and lasers into her durable mining-grade frame. She was eager to plant a pede in Bumblebee's spinal-strut, but with Perceptor's incessant need to cuddle, she had to settle for scorching the scout's skid-plate instead. Joule's tired beau used the sneakiest of his sensual berth-side ploys to addle her processor. The wet drag of his glossa, the languid press of his mouth, and the teasing nip of his dental-plates impaired her concentration.

Joule valiantly tried to aim the laser-sight. The red light was a fuzzy line that wobbled drunkenly. The beam ricocheted on the floor, struck the ceiling, and refracted off the brushed steel to blind Bumblebee in the optic. Joule heard the scout curse, hastily repositioned the laser-sight, and was soon distracted by Perceptor's reverent nuzzling. The bridge of his nasal-plate brushed the sensitive seam in the centre of her hand.

Joule shivered involuntarily. Her fingers tightened round Perceptor's face-plate when the devious bot showered her palm with butterfly kisses. She bit her lip-plate, vented gustily, and was torn between desire and duty. Bumblebee had met the true AI in the guise of J4N3, infuriated Shepard with his daft assumptions, and made himself a security-risk. Joule was confident in Jazz's continued collusion but his idiotic sidekick posed a threat to the Hive's secrecy.

Bumblebee's helm swivelled on his neck-strut. His chest, pelvis, and thigh-struts obligingly followed the slow rotation of his frame. He eyed the grouchy miner-bot distrustfully. Bumblebee saw the laser-sight mounted upon the barrel of the sonic-cannon secured to her shoulder. His processor calculated the likely trajectory of a shot fired by the weapon.

Bumblebee looked down, gulped, and found that Joule's actions confirmed the worst of his suspicions. She_ was_ every mech's _bearing-blasting_ nightmare come to life. Joule's laser-sight was trained with unnerving precision. The scarlet spotlight was fixed on Bumblebee's triangular pelvic-plate. The housing of his interface panel, secreted underneath a robust steel shell, was the unfortunate focus of Joule's sonic-cannon.

Bumblebee's helm whipped up, his neck-strut creaked, and he heard the mechanical whine of a charge powering down. He glowered when Perceptor's berth-mate had the brassy bearings to smirk conceitedly. Joule shuttered an optic in a brazen wink. She was aware of Bumblebee's vigilance when she reinitiated the transformation sequence. He scrutinised every clunk, clack, and clink of her plates as her favourite weapon dismantled into its myriad components.

Bumblebee's relief was intense when the parts disappeared inside the sanctuary of Joule's frame. Her shoulder plates resettled into a smooth curve. Bumblebee scowled when the haughty femme lavished Perceptor with attention. She acted casually as if she hadn't intended to scrap his aft a klik ago. Joule cupped her beau's face-plate, kissed his mouth apologetically, and kindly guided his helm to rest upon her shoulder again.

The fatigued scientist smiled gratefully. Perceptor curled into her side, yawned, and resumed using his paramour's frame like a berth-mat. He was too spent to care if poor Bumblebee had almost been on the receiving end of a devastating sonic-blast. The scout snorted disgustedly, folded his arms across his chest-plate, and broadcasted his opinion of the lazy lethargic bot. "_You're a selfish soft-sparked bastard, Perceptor_! _Your femme is insane_! _How can you just sit there snoring when Joule almost slagged my bits, bolts, and bearings_!"

Perceptor listened to the lullaby-like crooning of Shepard's bee-bot brood and the Autobot's resident music enthusiast. He hummed the melody much to Joule's amusement, kept his optics shuttered, and raised a single metallic finger. His hand swayed left to right in time with the harmony as if he were the conductor directing Shepard's choir. Perceptor tucked that finger into the curve of his palm, flicked his thumb forward, and gave Bumblebee that infamous gesture of human approval. He yawned as he counselled the bot on the dangers of dating a femme.

"You upset Shepard, activated my sweet Joule's assault subroutines, and were fortunate not to have your bearings blasted into a steaming pile of slag. Not many mechs can escape without scratches, scorch-marks, or dents when a femme is ready to blow a fuse. You should be thankful for small mercies, Bumblebee. You still have your bearings intact. Now mute your vocaliser, sit back, and observe how your mentor resolves a crisis with a little tact, charm, and subtlety".

Bumblebee's nasal-plate wrinkled disdainfully. He was unimpressed by Perceptor's condescending attitude. The scientist had the emotional sensitivity of a rock, thought that dating a femme made him an expert on their behaviour, and could make his own advice soundly insulting. Bumblebee heard Joule giggle. He looked down when she pointed to the floor and found that he was unconsciously tapping the tranquil beat to Shepard's song.

Bumblebee's pede instantly ceased to clink on the grated metal floor. He ignored Joule's smug smile, turned his helm, and reluctantly followed Perceptor's suggestion. He watched Jazz gracefully bobbing, spinning, and swinging Shepard around like a marionette on a string. They were coming out of a dizzy rotation in fluidic tandem when Bumblebee saw that his mentor led the dance. Shepard surrendered to the music, willingly followed Jazz's every movement, and placed her trust in him to steer her through the deluge of her grief.

Bumblebee watched them waltz like two halves of the same spark pulsing in synchronised rhythm. Jazz's compassion was certainly having a positive effect. Shepard smiled when he paused to let her catch a breath, laughed when she nearly tripped to reposition her feet, and shied when he encouraged her with a comical grin. Bumblebee saw how Jazz cradled the AI's holographic avatar to his frame as if she were made of glass. Shepard was on the cusp of change, capable of choosing to move on with her simulated life, or, of continuing to dwell on past sorrows.

Bumblebee grudgingly agreed with Perceptor's judgement. Jazz's charisma gave him an advantage in tense situations, but his attentiveness to Shepard seemed to be more than mere flattery and flirtation. His mentor was the perfectly patient, unselfish, and understanding chaperone for the glum AI. Jazz's actions to Bumblebee appeared demonstrative of sincere affection. He watched how they interacted with the mutual respect that existed between long-time friends, comrades, and spark-mates.

Shepard blinked through the tears when Jazz leaned inwards to meet her brow, nose, and chin again in that wonderful gesture of turian intimacy. The song ebbed to a poignant climax when she took that final relieved step into the circle of his arms. Shepard instinctively turned her face into the comfortable nook between Jazz's neck and shoulder-strut. Bumblebee's spark ached when light reflected off damp red-rimmed lashes, slick cheeks, and the moist lips of a mouth turned down unhappily. He froze when a pair of watery eyes peered back at him over Jazz's silvered shoulder-plates.

Shepard laid her chin upon the warm metal, wrapped gauntleted arms round her dance-partner's spinal-strut, and woefully returned Bumblebee's gaze. She was quiet for several kliks until bright wings flapped in a blur of motion. The smallest bee-bot nuzzled Shepard's cheek, twittered sweetly, and flew from her shoulder. Bumblebee was startled when little Bitlet made a beeline for him. He gaped at the sight of a black and yellow banded missile fast homing in on the planes of his face-plate.

Jazz heard a feeble feminine giggle, insistent buzzing, and his apprentice's exasperated protests. He rubbed Shepard's back while Bumblebee's helm rolled left to right on creaking neck-struts. The scout dodged Bitlet's spiny legs when he tried to fly in close enough to touch-down. "_No_!_ My face-plate is not a landing platform_!" The smallest bee-bot, thinking that Bumblebee's antics were an invitation to a game of tag, chased him around in enthusiastic circles.

Jazz found himself with an armful of laughing AI. Shepard buried her face in the hollow of his throat, laughed into his plates, and took solace in his presence. Air hissed through his vents when her hip bumped his blackened pelvic-plates. The exertion of their dancing had agitated the web of sensory wires, nodes, and neural-lines secreted under the reinforced dermal-plating. Shepard's chortles faded as Jazz stiffened in response to the stinging in his circuits.

She frowned, looked down, and spied the source of his discomfort. The grimy plates were a stark reminder of the habitual side-effect of fostering the several thousand infant sparks slumbering inside the Hive. Jazz's '_scorching_' occurred whenever Shepard reflexively discharged the excess energy, accumulated in caring for the sparklings, through the plates of any particularly frustrating cybertronian. She regretted causing him unnecessary suffering, guiltily laid her hand over his pelvis, and gently kneaded the singed plates. Jazz's witty remark was distorted by a static-filled moan.

"You certainly know how to wear out a mech my, sweet-_Primus_! _ Ooooh_!"

Shepard raised the poor bot's core temperature by several degrees. Jazz's processor swam with sensory data when a gush of cold shot through his scorched plates. The chill permeated the mesh of sensors, easing the uncomfortable burn to a tolerable twinge. Shepard searched the saboteur's face-plate for the slightest nuance of pain in his expression. She reddened when his features slackened with pleasure.

Shepard heard an inquisitive chirp, spotted Ram astride Jazz's helm, and saw the bee-bot trying to peer over the bridge of his nasal-plate. Ram screeched in annoyance when he couldn't see beyond the broad wedge of metal. Shepard knew that he was likely curious about the cause of Jazz's throaty vocalisation. The saboteur was quivering under her fingertips, his frame was rigid with restraint, and his optics burned in fiery arousal. His face-plate mirrored Shepard's own mortified amazement that she had groped him in public.

The gesture of aid, meant to soothe the soreness in Jazz's hypersensitive wiring, was on the verge of discovery by her brood of bee-bots. Shepard realised that being caught in such a compromising position would have serious consequences. She gathered the tattered shreds of her composure, schooled her face into a vision of solemnity, and casually moved her hand to safer territory. She patted Jazz's hip-strut in apology when Ram piped a question to the bee-bot on her shoulder. The pall of Shepard's grief evaporated when Rom, having viewed the _fondling _of the saboteur's pelvic-plates, answered Ram with a delighted squeal.

The duo chattered excitedly while Bitlet darted between Bumblebee's flapping hands. The bee-bot landed with a satisfied trill atop the scout's crown, was intrigued by the odd terrain, and immediately magnetised tiny pedes to the concave sunshine yellow plates. Bumblebee winced with every step that Bitlet took across the dome of his helm. The sting of magnetic suction on his cranial-plating caused the array of sensors embedded underneath to ping a constant stream of error messages into his processor. The resultant ache triggered the outermost shell of Bumblebee's helm to split in half, slide up, forward, and down over his face-plate.

Bitlet chittered elatedly after the impromptu ride, lasting a memorable klik, ended with a view of the command centre's ceiling. The littlest bee-bot happily bounced on three pairs of spiny legs. Bitlet buzzed in praise of Bumblebee's clever mechanical adaptation. The plates of his helm formed a solid faceguard that enclosed his face-plate and left his optics exposed through a pair of symmetrical holes. Bumblebee resembled a gigantic bee-bot in the guise of an autonomous robotic lifeform.


	9. The Simplest Pleasures

**Aftermath **

_**By Pyreite**_

**Fandom:** AU – Mass Effect x Bayverse Transformers Movies

**Rating:** M – Contains _Mature_ themes

**Setting:** Set _seven hundred years_ after Darkside of the Moon and _four hundred years_ after Mass Effect 3 – Control ending. Takes place in the same universe as oneshot _Baby-bots, Spark-Attacks, and Cuddle-Buddies_.

**Synopsis: **Jazz brings Bumblebee on a mission to a remote energon mining facility in deep-space to investigate Perceptor's unusual scientific discovery, a Reaper dreadnought, slumbering in the tunnels underneath the mine. The mine's AI, J4N3, a close friend of Jazz, unknowingly inherited the gift preserved inside the genetic code of the first human ally of the Autobot's, Samuel Witwicky.

A gift that like Pandora's Box, once opened could save or destroy the last surviving scions of Primus's legacy, Optimus Prime, the Autobots, and the remnants of the Decepticon forces.

**Starring: **Jazz, Bumblebee, Perceptor, a reaperised Commander Jane Shepard, a moody miner-bot, some old Autobot friends, and several hundred miniaturised insecticons.

**Warnings:** _This story contains a xenophile romance between an AI and an Autobot, some cuddling, spontaneous kissing, references to interfacing equipment, budding sparklings, Fornax, Shepard's oddity of attracting suitors among aliens species, and coarse language, especially, cybertronian curse words, like frag, slag, and glitch. Discretion is advised. _

_**Chapter 9: The Simplest Pleasures**_

_**From last time:**_

_Bitlet chittered elatedly after the impromptu ride, lasting a memorable klik, ended with a view of the command centre's ceiling. The littlest bee-bot happily bounced on three pairs of spiny legs. Bitlet buzzed in praise of Bumblebee's clever mechanical adaptation. The plates of his helm formed a solid face-guard that enclosed his face-plate and left his optics exposed through a pair of symmetrical holes. Bumblebee resembled a gigantic bee-bot in the guise of an autonomous robotic lifeform._

Joule admired the pragmatic example of cybertronian engineering. The simple but functional pair of cranial-plates shielded Bumblebee's face-plate while mimicking the appearance of the insecticon for which he was named. Joule was glad that the scout lacked the antennae, the classical black abdominal banding, and the three requisite pairs of spiny legs essential to bee-bot anatomy. The Hive's innumerable residents, in their miniaturised form, were more manageable than the cybertronian-sized equivalent. Shepard's influence as their Queen certainly made monitoring the development of Bitlet, his brothers, and their large and colourful extended family much easier.

Joule patted Perceptor's cheek, gently rolled her shoulder to wake him, and kissed his nasal-plate when he groggily opened an optic. She nodded to Bumblebee who was trying to coax the littlest bee-bot into flight. She vented nervously when the scout scratched the underside of Bitlet's wing-struts. The cybernetic structures were a collection of tiny thoracic-plates, pistons, circuits, and fuel-lines too delicate to replace through conventional medical procedures. The slightest degree of pressure above Bitlet's natural tolerance for wear and tear would damage the miniature motors that powered his wings.

Joule knew that a flightless bee-bot was useless to the Hive. Bitlet's frame, spark, and wings would be cannibalised if he suffered an irreparable injury. The ruthless efficiency of Shepard's swarm of bee-bots was disconcertingly impressive. The Hive operated as a single entity, harvesting, refining, and seeding the raw energon ore needed to nourish the protoformed sparklings in their care. The nutritious energon-honey manufactured by the bee-bots was saturated with the mineral supplements necessary for the healthy maturation of infant processors, frames, and automated cybernetic components.

Bitlet buzzed appreciatively, lazily fanned his wings, and leaned into Bumblebee's ministrations. The scout's thick fingers gently grazed the bee-bot's undercarriage. Perceptor chuckled when little Bitlet nipped Bumblebee's fingertips, tapped his knuckles with spiny antennae, and bossily manoeuvred the bot's hand further underneath his frame. The bee-bot luxuriated in the simple pleasure of having those hard-to-reach thoracic-plates properly scratched by a willing assistant. Perceptor reassured his paramour while she supervised Bitlet's play-date with Jazz's apprentice.

"The winglet will be fine. Bumblebee would not harm a sparkling. You worry unnecessarily".

Joule's stringent adherence to protocol often overshadowed the soft-spark under her plates. She watched Bumblebee with the keenness of an inherently strict nanny-bot, making certain that he didn't harm the tiniest member of Shepard's brood. The most inquisitive of the Hive's bee-bot swarm was Joule's favourite byte-sized pioneer. She was proud of little Bitlet's insatiable need to explore, catalogue, and quantify every part of his rapidly expanding world. The miner-bot assured her beau that Bumblebee would continue to humour one of the first sparklings born successfully after aeons of failure.

"Of course your comrade wouldn't hurt Bitlet. If he kinked a single antenna on that little bee-bot helm I would not hesitate to blow a hole through his interface-panel. Bumblebee, like most mechs, would naturally be averse to losing such a vital component of his frame. The threat of potential gelding should keep him civil enough to mind his manners. The spike, valve, and internal calliper design for cybertronian interfacing equipment _is_ more difficult to repair, replace, and recalibrate than the standard '_Plug and Port_' configuration".

Perceptor smiled awkwardly when Joule patted his abdominal plates. The lime, yellow, and white lacquer smudging his thighs, chest, arms, and cheek-plates revealed volumes about their recent carnal activities. He had forgotten to erase the evidence with their customary post-interface rub-down. The bottles of industrial-grade cleaning solvent, the pile of porous sponges and polishing cloths that Joule kept inside her personal wash-rack, off the administrator's office, remained unused. Perceptor cursed his impropriety when he spotted Bitlet staring at the scandalous streaks marring his paramour's plates.

The littlest bee-bot was studying the red, blue, and silver paint marbling Joule's lime finish. Perceptor was uncomfortably aware that she was liberally striped from helm to pede. Bitlet's tiny optics zoomed in an out in a whirr and click of gears. His slender antennae waved to and fro, testing and tasting the air. The circuits underneath Perceptor's face-plate sizzled with embarrassment, when Bitlet's unabashed ogling of Joule's frame, culminated in a staccato of ecstatically chirped questions.

The nature of the bee-bot's queries earned him a baleful glare from Shepard. She whirled on the spot, jabbed a gauntleted finger in the scientist's direction, and emphatically shook her head. Perceptor was her liaison with Optimus Prime, the overseer of their social experiment, and an impartial observer chronicling the Hive's ornly routines. He did not hold absolute responsibility for the mental, physical, and emotional health and well-being of Bitlet, his brothers, and the greater bee-bot swarm. Shepard was teary-eyed, ruddy-cheeked, and mortified but assertive enough to exert her authority as the Hive's resident Queen.

"Damn it, Perceptor! You're flashing '_I just got fragged_' like a neon-sign!" The AI scowled when Joule tried to intercede on the beleaguered scientist's behalf. She rounded on the miner-bot with the ferociousness of a turbo-wolf defending a litter of sparkling-pups. "_Shove the excuses up your tail-pipe_! _I've told you time and again not to wander around in front of my boys with your berth-mate's paint smeared across your frame_!"

Shepard's vehemence stirred Jazz's curiosity. She was exhibiting the classic signs of a protective _Carrier_. She tried to shield her impressionable offspring by stepping between Joule and the tiny bee-bot clinging to Bumblebee's face-plate. Jazz grinned amusedly as he saw through the shapely plates of the AI's holographic armour. Bitlet was still getting an _optic_-_full_ of the paint scandalously streaking Joule's frame despite Shepard's maternal efforts to preserve his innocence.

The AI bristled like an angry _Prime_ when Perceptor shuffled forward. She eyed the bot as he raised his hands, palm up, to placate her. Shepard had unfortunately learned a thing or two from Optimus. The way she folded her arms, lowered her chin, and glowered at the self-conscious Perceptor was uncomfortably reminiscent of his Commander and Chief. Optimus Prime was the stern disciplinarian when his troops stepped out of line too, though he tended to be more understanding if they made honest mistakes.

Perceptor's spark trembled when Shepard's voice mimicked his Prime's familiar disapproving growl. She resembled Optimus when he rebuked a subordinate. The frigid syllables, hard vowels, and brusque tone emphasised her displeasure. Shepard was _furious_.

"_We had an agreement, Perceptor_!"

Shepard intentionally flicked a gauntleted thumb at the breastplate of her hard-suit to show where the responsibility of leadership lay. "_I look after the Hive_!" She jabbed a menacing index-finger at the foolishly forgetful scientist. "_You monitor its development_!" Shepard gestured to the irrefutable proof discolouring Perceptor's frame.

She tolerated the scientist's curiosity, allowed him access to the Hive, and accommodated his experiments through the provision of raw materials. The AI satisfied his unceasing demands in order to better understand her own changing nature, but even she had boundaries. Any half-processor-glitched pervert would know with one look that Perceptor enjoyed _swapping paint_ with Joule in his free-time. Shepard did not intrude on the mining crews' privacy on principle, but that was becoming increasingly difficult with her growing awareness.

She could no more ignore their unique spark-signatures than she could deny the cybertronian influence on her Reaper programming. Shepard sensed the quickening in Perceptor's spark. She could almost _feel_ the white-hot fury smouldering inside his frame. Cybertronians were more emotive than the Geth, more intuitive than EDI, and so much more expressive than an ordinary V.I. Shepard's anger, fuelled by Perceptor's own, culminated in an explosion of outrage.

"_Your work does not include introducing my boys to the cybertronian equivalent of sexual education_!"

Perceptor's vocaliser crackled in annoyance. He was insulted by the AI's suggestion that he had acted _unprofessionally_. He was a neutral observer of the Hive, certainly, but he had never neglected his duties. Perceptor eyed Shepard like a turbo-hawk would a glitch-mouse. His nasal-plate wrinkled, his lower-lip curled disdainfully, and he countered the AI's argument with sound logic that would surely infuriate her.

"If you are going to accuse me of wilfully corrupting your offspring, Shepard, than you should have the decency to use the correct terminology. Joule and I engaged in a consensual dual cross-platform _interface_. An act of intimacy that is far more respectful than the torrid organic mating ritual you term _sex_. Joule and I, as consenting adults, conducted our _interfacing_ in private. We did not, as you seem to be implying, _frag each other senseless_ in front of Ram, Rom, Bitlet and the inhabitants of the entire Hive".

Bumblebee grimaced under the shell of his face-guard. He tried to distract himself from the perturbing revelation of Perceptor being a _closet_-_Casanova_ by petting his passenger's thoracic-plates. He sympathised when poor Bitlet's wing-struts drooped despondently. Parental-units tended to be _over-protective_. Bumblebee could understand Shepard's reluctance to expose the bee-bot to the intricacies of cybertronian romantic relationships.

Adult cybertronians were _adventurous_ in choosing their berth-mates and uninhibited in their intimate relations. Bumblebee was perturbed by the notion of explaining the various _fetishes_ to the insecticon equivalent of an impressionable sparkling. He doubted that Bitlet was mentally and physically similar to the average cybertronian, but appearances could be deceiving. If the littlest bee-bot could comprehend the significance of the white, lime, and yellow paint staining Perceptor's frame than Shepard was _slagged_. Bumblebee's helm turned, his optics focused on Ram perched on Jazz's helm, and Rom astride the AI's shoulder.

The two bee-bots chattered to one another in their own musical language. Bumblebee heard sweet-throated warbling, a flurry of short and sharp whistles, and the occasional low-pitched chitter. Ram and Rom seemed to be _gossiping_. Bumblebee wondered how his mentor was handling the situation. He gaped when he saw the familiar tell-tale expression of unveiled desire on Jazz's face-plate.

The saboteur only looked that _wanton_ when he wanted something very badly. Bumblebee followed his mentor's line of sight. He groaned disappointedly. Jazz was staring at Shepard's armoured aft. The object of his affections, unfortunately, was more interested in arguing with Perceptor.

Bumblebee flinched when Shepard roared. "_I don't care who you frag provided that you're discreet_!" The force of the AI's ire startled the bee-bot perching upon her shoulder into flight. Bumblebee was astonished when rotund Rom, easily the largest of his brothers, bravely rocketed between the feuding parties. The bee-bot hovered in mid-air, wings flashing silver, as Perceptor countered Shepard's contentious accusation.

"_We were discreet_!"

Several kliks passed in tense silence as the scientist and AI traded glares. Bumblebee was sickened by Joule's lack of initiative. The mine's administrator, the source of Perceptor's troubles, hadn't bothered to defend him. She stood there, like a useless lump of scrap, watching events unfold. Bumblebee glowered when the femme, realising that she had a spectator, glanced his way.

They shared a mutually distrustful look, optics gleaming warily, until Shepard put her heel to the floor. The AI bent her knee, rocked forward onto the ball of her foot, and strode toward Perceptor. She never made it across the room. Shepard was swiftly corralled before she could scrap Joule's berth-mate into a steaming pile of slag. Rom trilled indignantly, rebuking the AI, as Jazz's arms slid around her waist.

Bumblebee vented a relieved sigh. His mentor had impeccable timing. Shepard was red-faced, scowling, and anchored tight to Jazz's frame. Bumblebee was confident the situation would be defused civilly until he heard the roar of a territorial mech. The engine block, concealed under Jazz's gleaming plates, revved aggressively.

"You're my number one genius, Perce, but if any bot's going to be getting _physical_ with my sweetspark". Jazz met the scientist's gaze, optic to optic, and bared his dental-plates in a feral grin. "It's going to be _me_". Jazz patted Shepard's armoured belly, nodded to the entrance of the mine's command centre, and offered his comrade some helpful advice. "Now, why don't you and Joule, go clean yourselves up".

Perceptor's vocaliser sputtered with static. He was aware that Jazz outranked him. The saboteur was their Prime's third-in-command while Joule was the most senior officer aboard the mining complex. Perceptor wondered if their civil conversation might descend into violence. Joule appreciated a good fire-fight.

Perceptor saw his berth-mate's posture. Joule had thrown her shoulders back, straightened her spinal-strut, and bent her knee-joints to ground herself. She was braced for an assault by the temperamental AI. Perceptor appreciated Joule's loyalty, but he hoped to avoid fisticuffs. He trusted Jazz's judgement even though the saboteur's processor was clouded by a deepening well of affection for Shepard.

Perceptor cautiously tested the waters. "Are you _ordering _me to comply?" He studied Jazz's expression as he questioned the bot's integrity. Perceptor saw the momentary hesitation, the slight arching of the saboteur's brow-plates, and the dilation of his optics. His spark hammered guiltily when he saw the undisguised _hurt_ on Jazz's face-plate.

Perceptor's life-long friend carefully considered an answer. Jazz was true to his mercurial nature, choosing the path of least resistance. Every bot, great or small, was vulnerable to the commonest courtesies. Jazz appealed to the scientist's sense of etiquette. "I'm _asking_ Perce, with a great big dino-bot sized _please_, welded on with hugs and kisses".

Perceptor wanted to play _dirty_. Jazz was unashamed of taking advantage of the scientist's _guilt_-_ridden_ conscience. He thrust his lower-lip out in an unhappy pout. Fifteen strategic kliks of tense silence, quiet contemplation, and an appreciative glance over Perceptor's frame provoked Joule to take action. Jazz added fuel to the fire as the femme, mirroring his possessiveness, slid an arm around Perceptor's pelvic-plates.

"I guess I won't be making good on those hugs and kisses, Perce".

Joule's smile was poisonous when Rom, chittering agitatedly, alighted upon Shepard's shoulder. The largest of the AI's bee-bot brood chastised her with a shrill screech. His opinion was echoed by Ram, who buzzed ominously, wing-struts a blur of silver. The bee-bot brothers appealed to the smallest of their number with a strident whistle. Bitlet crooned apologetically to Bumblebee, took to the air in a burst of motion, and hastily reunited with his siblings.

Shepard rolled her eyes exasperatedly. She would have slugged the scientist if Jazz hadn't intervened. She eyed Perceptor grumpily, still annoyed with his lack of common-sense, despite her silver-plated paramour's attempt to smooth her ruffled feathers. Shepard had been protective of civilians, friends, and family during her career as an Alliance soldier. The single defining trait, cemented into the threads of her Reaper programming, had magnified ten-fold in her establishment as the Hive's Queen.

Shepard grimaced when Jazz tried to be diplomatic. "Sweetspark, if I can forgive your sparklets for trying to fry my circuits, than you can forgive Perce for being a little absent-minded". The AI was reminded of Garrus as Jazz poured the guilt on thick. Her turian beloved had used similar tactics to coax her down the path toward peace. Shepard grumbled irritably.

"_Fine_, _I won't smelt the bastard's circuits this time around_,_ but he had better be rinsed off inside a joor_, _or my boot will be lodged in his tail-pipe by the next on-shift cycle_!"

Shepard scrutinised the various streaks and dents marring Perceptor's frame. He was a walking advertisement, filthy from helm to heel-strut, unwittingly publicising his virility in the berth. The AI's interest in him was telling. She blushed when realisation dawned upon Perceptor. Shepard found his behaviour reprehensible, but she was neither blind nor stupid.

The scientist possessed inherently desirable traits. He was intelligent, easy on the eye, and working selflessly for the betterment of his people. The cybertronian algorithms, actively reformatting the AI's Reaper processes, cast the bot in a favourable light. Shepard was red from crown to chin when Perceptor's vents stalled. She winced when she heard the gears grind inside his frame.

Perceptor gawked at her like a stunned glitch-mouse. He was bewildered by the turn of events. He regarded Shepard as a miracle of Primus, not as a femme that craved the simplest pleasures of her formerly human life. Perceptor had hypothesized that her mortal desires would have diminished during her ascendancy into the Reaper consciousness. He had never been more _wrong_.

Shepard sensed the rise in Perceptor's core temperature. His optics rolled back and forth erratically as he analysed the oddities of her existence. The AI's face glowed rosy-red when the scientist voiced his theory. "The static build-up, the electrical surges, and the spontaneous discharge of current are not random occurrences". Shepard was mortified when the enigmatic genius blurted his conclusions aloud.

"_Blessed Primus_!_ You're entering the mechanical equivalent of an organic heat-cycle_!"


End file.
